There aren’t too many grandiose albums in contemporary jazz. By that I don’t necessarily mean music built around a large ensemble, lavish arrangements and loud crescendos, but rather releases that manage to combine an ambitious concept with meticulous attention to every musical detail, as well as that certain “something” that makes us feel an album is “larger than life”, even if we can’t necessarily put it into words.

When I think of such examples, the first album that comes to mind is “Promises”, released in 2021 by Floating Points, London Symphony Orchestra, and Pharoah Sanders, where the winning combination is a legendary musician placed in a new and unexpected context that would prove to be a perfect meeting of three seemingly different musical cultures. Of course, Pharoah Sanders wasn’t just any legend, but a musician who played with Coltrane in the later stages of his career and then became one of the pillars of so-called “spiritual jazz”.

This subgenre would experience a commercial rise with the emergence of Kamasi Washington and especially his album “Epic”, after which “jazz spiritualists” would start springing up like mushrooms after rain, often relying only superficially on the genre’s common tropes – flute, harp, choir, basic modal jazz, the occasional Sanders-like overtone on saxophone, and so on.

There is probably no word in contemporary jazz more worn out than “spiritual”, which today is used as a (marketable) identity badge, ignoring the possibility that what is spiritual in music is not a set of formal and stylistic rules, but a deep and personal experience of a musician’s relationship “with a higher power”, or simply with themselves. In this kind of market landscape, a creatively conceived album featuring Pharoah Sanders is a major event because it reminds us of the essence of this music, which comes through even when you’re playing with a DJ and a symphony orchestra.

From here, we quite naturally arrive at flutist, vocalist and composer Naïssam Jalal, who once fell in love with jazz after hearing Coltrane’s “Olé” on the roof of a textile factory in Mali. “It hit me like a ton of bricks. It was a healing process in a musical trance”, Jalal says, describing the experience in a fantastic interview for this year’s spring issue of We Jazz magazine.

“In jazz, I’m moved by Pharoah Sanders, Alice and John Coltrane, by the way they express their inner selves. (…) But I’m not sure that’s down to modal music; it’s a question of mindset”, she explains further.

After growing up in France, then living for several years in Syria and Egypt, travelling through West Africa and thoroughly studying and absorbing numerous non-Western musical traditions, she spent years successfully incorporating them into her jazz expression. When she got the opportunity to visit India and study Hindustani music, she immersed herself in it more deeply than ever before. As she herself explains, while preparing to record the album “Landscapes of Eternity”, she spent five years listening exclusively to Hindustani music. “It took me a long time to immerse myself deeply in the music and not treat it as an exotic accesory”.

As you listen to the album, you will unmistakably feel that this is a truly personal, deeply lived and sincere approach to this music in the context of modal jazz, following in the footsteps of the aforementioned influences. You won’t need Jalal’s explanations to feel that. But there is no harm in mentioning them within this broader context as we think about what spirituality in music actually is, or what the “exoticisation” of non-Western musical traditions means. We won’t be thinking about this merely to feel like sophisticated, learned intellectuals and jazz connoisseurs; rather, we’ll do so to genuinely open our minds to what comes from outside the Western jazz market, and to seek spirituality beyond what constitutes today’s “spiritual branding”.

Naïssam Jalal has made a grandiose album. It is grandiose in its concept, in its meticulous attention to every musical detail, every note and every arrangement.

“It is an album of landscapes I passed through in North India and within myself” explains the album’s creator. The song titles (Tears in Delhi’s fog / Bath of forgiveness in the moonlight / Soft rain on a silent river / In the rice fields at dawn / Inner landscape in raag Kafi) evoke her journey.

The ambient introductions to the tracks create a sensory synesthesia. During the first few minutes of each composition, Jalal does not flood us with barrages of notes, but invites us to “immerse ourselves” in her musical world, while our minds naturally begin creating their own images and sensations. You can almost smell the fog, feel the breath of fresh air by the river, experience the awe of an imagined landscape. Through the titles, Jalal suggests her own experiences, but in our minds they become entirely personal.

The drone sound of the tanpura creates a sonic landscape over which delicate musical nuances unfold. Naïssam Jalal sets the scene with her lucid approach to vocals. In the opening “Tears in Delhi’s fog”, we hear her switch from flute to vocals and back again within the same musical phrase or passage. Sometimes it is a growl that occupies a “no man’s land” between flute and voice. They become one and create a highly exciting musical sensation. But they also function as separate instruments, with Jalal knowing exactly when to let one or the other take precedence, patiently building the dynamics of the compositions.

We hear another fantastic voice on the album. In the second composition, “Bath of forgiveness in the moonlight”, Samrat Pandit is responsible for the ambient opening sequence in the spirit of Hindustani music, while in the following “Soft rain on a silent river” he only enters somewhere around the halfway point: his singing almost imperceptibly and gradually begins to slide into a solo passage surrounded by an increasingly busy and animated band. It is precisely in these two sequences that we see all the brilliance of Jalal’s approach to arranging – both within the album as a whole and within an individual track.

As we listen to the album as a whole, we won’t be able to say whether this is a “jazz album with Hindustani influences” or “an album of Hindustani music with jazz elements”. We will certainly be able to attribute certain musical fragments to a particular musical tradition, but Jalal manages to create music that functions as a whole, in which both the album and the compositions have their own clearly defined dramaturgy.

For me, the key element is precisely this “slowness”, or rather the gradual way in which Jalal builds her compositions, from which the sense of the work’s “monumentality” then emerges. Not because it is loud or because there are many instruments, but because of its completeness, the multitude of details within a fluid musical whole, the clear intention to delve deeply and unreservedly into both the music and one’s own self, to entrust the listener with one’s own vulnerability, delicacy, but also spiritual strength.

Musicians:

Naïssam Jalal: flute, vocals
Samrat Pandit : vocals
Sougata Roy Chowdhury : sarod
Leonardo Montana: piano
Zaza Desiderio: drums
Nabankur Bhattacharya: tabla
Flo Comment: tanpura

Over the past few days, I’ve been working at a very intense pace at the Herceg Novi Film Festival in Montenegro, and it was only a couple of days ago that I felt the pressure starting to ease a little. As I type these lines, I’m staying about 50 metres from the sea, and I can definitely feel the touristy, seaside vibe even though I’m here for work.

Quite by chance, the first music I played after several days of silence was Daniele Di Bonaventura and Arild Andersen’s not-so-new album „Roots“, released in March last year. I don’t usually make „seaside playlists“ for myself, but this music happens to coincide perfectly with where I am and the Mediterranean spirit. Bonaventura is a bandoneon player who sounds like some kind of „classic“ even when he’s recording new albums. He’s like a safe harbour you return to after listening to all sorts of adventurous music. Safe space. Retreat. Simply beautiful music, played with quality and communicating on a universal level.

Once I got back into the right state of mind for listening to music, everything else followed naturally. A few days ago, I’d already made a note that Angles 4 had released a new album, and saxophonist Martin Küchen is one of those musicians who meant a lot to me during my formative (jazz) years. At the Ring Ring Festival, mentioned here many times before, Küchen’s band Exploding Customer and post-punk legends Pere Ubu performed on the same night in 2007. I would later realise what a fantastic pairing that was, even though one came from „jazz“ culture and the other from the „rock scene“ in a broader sense.

Later, I followed various incarnations of Angles, as well as other excellent projects by Küchen, and occasionally enjoyed their live shows. In that sense, listening to the album „Angles 4“ feels like returning to old acquaintances and is yet another perfectly „safe choice“. „Coleman meets Mingus“ with a touch of contemporary avant-garde. Before listening to this album in full, I had a few „fails“ with new albums that I gave up on after the first couple of tracks because they just weren’t working for me; but with Kuchen, everything went perfectly smoothly.

Scrolling through Instagram then led me to my friend Predrag Vlahović, who really knows the scene and who, back in the day, wrote a blog dedicated to minimalist music (jazz, avant-garde, composed, ambient, etc.). For the past several years he has been sharing his music recommendations on his personal Instagram profile. I see him as an impeccable curator of new music within a specific genre and stylistic framework, and if you have even the slightest interest in instrumental music of this kind, I warmly recommend following him HERE.

The first thing that caught my attention was his post about „Serpentine“, an album by Oren Ambarchi and his trio Ghosted (Johan Berthling – bass, Andreas Werliin - drums), joined by veteran multi-instrumentalist Christer Bothén. Unlike the regular Ghosted albums, based on buoyant repetition and the „drive“ of the rhythm section, the music here is more dynamically varied, and Bothén’s parts bring a special flavour to it. The band approach remains in the foreground, while the wind lines seem to come from the background, almost like a „layer“, rather than a classic jazz solo. A bull’s-eye.

Feeling grateful for this successful recommendation, I went to Predrag’s profile to see what else he had written about in recent days. What particularly caught my eye was that he had revisited the work of the legendary Bang On a Can collective. First, he recommended the Bandcamp article „How Bang On A Can Rejuvenated New York’s Improvisational Spirit“ and then the album „Bang on a Can Classics“, which I found and played during an evening break in my hotel room.

Over the years, I’ve been very much aware of this group’s existence, especially since clarinetist Ken Thomson joined them, as I had previously adored him in the punk-jazz group Gutbucket. However, I had never really devoted myself to listening to their body of work, so „Bang on a Can Classics“ was a welcome introduction.

This certainly isn’t jazz music, but it is music that „transcends genres“, starting from what we often colloquially call „classical music“, when in fact we’re talking about composed instrumental music of Western civilisation. Bang on a Can approach „classics“ in a contemporary guise, but without populist tricks, with depth and excitement. I recommend both the album and the aforementioned article about their vital, decades-long career.

In my Eurojazzist Randomizer #21 I wrote: An important aspect of this record is its approach to prepared piano, which doesn’t mean that this is an avant-garde album in the sense of complete improvisation based on sound texture. The preparation is there to enrich the sonic picture, but the focus is on the essential values of solo piano expression based on the holy trinity of composition, arrangement and improvisation. Every segment here seems equally important and effectively highlighted, and Sanchez shines precisely in these fine nuances, in the interplay between melody and sound texture.

Since the interview isn’t too long, this time I’ve prepared not only the audio, but also a written version of the interview, which follows below.

Eurojazzist: I would like to talk to you about your latest CD, solo piano record „For The Space You Left“. I read that you started working with that material back in 2017 on a residency in some cabin „outside of civilisation“. So, why did it take so long for you to put it on a record?

Marta: Well, I didn’t finish all the material. I didn’t finish writing the music back then in 2017. Then I was really busy with other projects. Because it’s solo piano, there is no pressure. It’s only me, and I didn’t find the time to keep writing until the pandemic came. So then I was like, “I think this is the perfect time to finish this.” I wrote the music, but it took me a while to play, shape it, and to see what I wanted to do with it. I had to play the music a lot to see where it was going to go.

Eurojazzist: And the original idea, as I can recall, was to have some personal perspective on the prepared piano. So, how do you approach it? What are your ideas and specific techniques when working solo piano with a prepared setup?

Marta: The intention wasn’t to explore the prepared piano. If you listen to my writing for quintet or even for trio, I always like to play with different melodies and layers. And when you have five instruments to do that, it’s easier. But when you have only a piano, it’s harder to differentiate the things.

So yeah, I play with registers a lot. There is something happening in the highs, in the middle, in the bottom. But then I was like, “Oh, if I use prepared piano, I can actually differentiate that even more.” For example, having something on the piano that sounds percussive, it’s like I have a drum there, and then I have a different sound in the bottom part of the piano if I put some tape, and so on.

And the approach has been evolving. When I started writing, it was a little bit more complex. I just saw what other people were doing, like John Cage or others. So I started using screws at the beginning, but that damaged the piano, so I stopped. The things evolved a little bit. I was seeing what other piano players were doing and trying things. It has changed a lot.

The preparation also changed since 2017 because I also started playing the music live. Every piece had a different setup, and I realized I can’t do that because it will take 5–10 minutes between tunes to change the preparation. So I had to commit to something that was more or less the same for every piece, except for minimal changes that will take one second to do. It became more simple. And now I also use pedals for live concerts. Mixed with a little bit of preparation, way less than before. But it’s enough that I can differentiate the layers and the original idea.

Eurojazzist: From the point of view of somebody in the audience, we usually see the piano, but we don’t see what’s happening in there. So, can you tell us a bit, what’s your typical setup? What kind of objects do you put in the piano?

Marta: Normally, I would put tape on the lower register and metallic paper on the highs and a combination of Blu Tack and sticks or magnets. Right now, I basically use just pedals, and then I use magnets and Blu Tack for the percussive effect, because the string doesn’t vibrate, so it gives a percussive sound. And magnets to change a little bit the quality of the sound. I do that also with pedals.

But normally, for the record, it’s tape on the lower register, a combination of magnets, sticks, and I think rubber. It’s similar to the effect of the Blu Tack. And then metallic paper on the highs.

Eurojazzist: It’s not a technical question, but when you compose for a solo piano, does it differ for you from composing for a trio or a quartet?

Marta: Of course, it’s different, but the main idea is a little bit the same. It’s different because the textures are different. The timbre is different. Whatever is doable for me playing the solo piano is not the same as with five people. You have to write things that you can also play.

Eurojazzist: So when you start composing, you don’t have just a melody in mind, but you have the whole relations of texture.

Marta: Yes. I always say that I start with anything. Sometimes I start with a melody, sometimes with some harmony, or with a rhythm. But the more and more I think about it, I think I always have a texture in mind.

Eurojazzist: Texture in terms of how some instrument might sound?

Marta: In terms of the total effect.

Eurojazzist: I would like to talk with you about composing, but from a different angle. Last night there was a talk about how to write about music, which is sometimes abstract, completely instrumental. But, from the composer’s point of view, how do you put some emotions, feelings, or ideas that may be verbal into something that is abstract, so – the other way?

Marta: For example, when I wrote a song for my mom, it was a concrete idea about that. But normally, I think what’s in the music is not the idea, but whatever will happen, it’s the feeling that awakens in me. Let’s put it that way.

Eurojazzist: So it starts from the feeling, basically.

Marta: Yes. Even if you are thinking about something concrete. Normally, I don’t think of something concrete like, “Oh, I’m going to do a song about...” Unless I did it as a song for my mom or something like that, or about other people when I do lyrics. But otherwise it always reflects something that is happening in my life at that moment.

So, I was telling you yesterday when we played „3:30“ that I had insomnia and I was waking up at 3:30. But really, it’s not about that. I probably put the title later. It’s more like I was feeling anxious, and that’s reflected in the music. That’s how I was feeling during that time: crazy, not sleeping…

I think it’s impossible, if you are honest with yourself, not to put that in the music. Because you are reflecting, you are passing everything that is happening in the world through your own system. Whatever you are feeling, and whatever you are living, is going to be in the music. Even if you don’t want to.

Eurojazzist: And for this solo record, can you remember what the inspirations were, and how did you think about converting your emotions into some sounds?

Marta: I don’t remember exactly how I was feeling, but I think I can see some kind of nostalgia or loneliness. Or I was in the middle of the woods and it was snowing, you feel a little bit... You are by yourself all day. I can remember it was like, it’s not sadness, but a little bit of some nostalgic feeling and loneliness when I was in McDowell residency.

Then came the pieces that I wrote during the pandemic. I think you can feel that these are from a different period. And these are more crazy.

Eurojazzist: So when it comes to solo piano, does it usually start from some sense of solitude or being with yourself?

Marta: No. I don’t think that necessarily. During this residency you see other people, and you are with them, but also it’s people that you don’t know. And you spend the whole day. You have dinner with the people, but then the rest of the day is just you. And the phone, in my cabin at that point, didn’t work. So I couldn’t even call friends. And it’s snowing. Sometimes you can’t leave the cabin. You have to stay there the whole day.

And yes, it’s a little bit lonely. A little bit.

About a month ago, I had a meeting at Radio Belgrade with my dear editors, where we discussed a number of things – from some concerts we might organize next season at Studio 6 to the program itself and my shows. We also came to the idea that I could add one playlist a month to my schedule, running for 50–60 minutes (depending on the flexible radio schedule).

In the past, I only made some New Year’s “best of” playlists for the Radio, but my focus was always either on complete concerts or albums. There were also some other special occasions when I put together playlists (for specific events), but I can’t say it’s my specialty. I’ve always had the impression that this job requires a particular skill, a sense of how to organize tracks in the right way, how to move seamlessly from one mood to another, how to be diverse but at the same time coherent and logical in the sequencing… all in all, the way I see it, a jazz playlist (or a playlist in any other genre, for that matter) can’t just be a series of great tracks arranged in any random order.

My first “official” playlist is coming next Wednesday, and I’ll be putting it together over the next few days, and once it’s published I’ll post about it. There are at least a couple of radio DJs among Eurojazzist readers, and perhaps more. I’d love to hear your thoughts on the art of creating a playlist. Or am I just overthinking it?

Irene Schweizer

I saw pianist Irene Schweizer live for the first and only time at the Ring Ring Festival in Belgrade. It was in 2008, when she performed with saxophonist Omri Ziegele. At the time, they dedicated their repertoire to “classics by Ornette Coleman, Don Cherry, and other jazz greats,” as I wrote in my concert report back then, although I don’t remember too many details now. Except that it was excellent, and that around that time I had only just started thinking more deeply about female performers in jazz – where they were, how many there were, which ones were influential and how many were overlooked… and what must it have been like for Irene Schweizer, who was born in 1941? What were her beginnings like?

If today’s female jazz musicians often speak openly about the machoism and harassment they encounter well into the 21st century, at a time when we can certainly say that there are far more female instrumentalists at festivals and on respected lists of the best performers than there used to be, and that the situation in that respect is “getting better,” what must it have been like for someone entering the world of jazz and improvised music in the 1960s and 1970s?

In early 1978, Irene Schweizer joined the Feminist Improvising Group, which was the first publicly performing women-only group of improvisers. Naturally, we can easily imagine how their male colleagues reacted to this band. Some of those reactions, as well as the broader context, can be found on the very thorough Wikipedia page, which offers plenty of information and quotes.

Schweizer’s role was important and pioneering in terms of the affirmation of women on the jazz scene, but also for the European jazz scene as a whole as we know it today.

I’ve gone off on a tangent, but not without reason – the album released by Intakt Records to mark the 40th anniversary of this great label is, symbolically and appropriately, a live recording of an Irene Schweizer performance from 1986. In addition to her own compositions, she performed jazz standards by Thelonious Monk, Ornette Coleman, and Duke Ellington. Although they are very different pianists, I also felt a parallel with the great Aki Takase, who likewise has an extraordinary feel for the jazz tradition and for combining it with a highly abstract improvisational style. In that sense, the album “Prelude to a Kiss and More (live)” is challenging and entertaining at the same time.

Ayumi Tanaka

Japanese pianist Ayumi Tanaka studied in Norway, and over the following years she remained in Europe, so we could say that she is part of the Scandinavian jazz scene. Her trio with Thomas Stronen and Thomas Morgan released the album “Windflover” yesterday on ECM Records. As I write this, I’m listening to it for the first time, and I can’t say that any obvious, immediate references come to mind. Which is certainly a good thing. Her playing, compositional, and arranging ideas are layered, while Stronen and Morgan approach the rhythm section very freely and playfully, without sticking to fixed rhythmic patterns that would constrain the music. I could say this is an “ECM-like” album in the broadest sense of the term, but it is by no means derivative – Tanaka is exploring her own artistic path.

Skopje Jazz Festival

Skopje Jazz Festival holds a very important place in the history of (live) jazz in the Balkans. Since the 1990s, some legendary names have performed here, including Ornette Coleman, Anthony Braxton, Roscoe Mitchell, and so on. One of my favorite musicians, John Lurie, played here back when he was still performing live. And many others. The festival’s director and longtime programmer Oliver Belopeta has legendary status, and rightly so, since he has always approached festival programming boldly and uncompromisingly. That isn’t always easy in our Balkan countries, where culture and politics intertwine and where the budgets of a country’s major jazz festivals depend on shifting social and political circumstances.

On the other hand, the exceptional status that Skopje Jazz Festival enjoys throughout the region speaks to the value of this kind of programming philosophy and the importance of continually educating the audience.

This year’s program was announced a few days ago as well. The festival takes place from October 15 to 18, and the complete lineup goes like this:

Leonhard Skorupa New Quistel Quintet * Zlatko Kaučič Kombo BC * Pasquale Mirra & Hamid Drake * Eivind Aarset & Jan Bang * Trygve Seim Ensemble * Punkt Live Remix Eric Honoré & Jan Bang * Andrea Mirceska Quintet * Nduduzo Makhathini * Alexander Hawkins & Sofia Jernberg * Jure Pukl Analog AI * Vincent Peirani Quintet.

I’m especially excited about the possibility of seeing Punkt Live Remixes nearby in its touring format. But everything else looks great too.

*all photos and videos by Eurojazzist

When we talk about jazz, probably the broadest definition is that it’s the art of improvisation – this is a fundamental characteristic of this music that we would use to explain it to people less familiar with the genre. At the same time, this is also a magic word that comes in handy for mythologizing jazz and everything surrounding it.

Although over the years I have become a cynic who is irritated by clichés in public discourse about any form of art, sometimes I myself enjoy drawing parallels like these, because they are simply an integral part of jazz as music, as art, and even of its socio-cultural context in a broader sense. Improvisation is sometimes not just “music as such,” but also what surrounds the world of jazz.

Coincidences That Make Life

Yesterday I was at a concert by pianist Marta Sanchez’s trio in the small Serbian town of Raška, which is far from having a jazz tradition or any kind of regular jazz program. It only happens when there is some special occasion, which this time was the Raške duhovne svečanosti festival. In an informal conversation with the people responsible for organizing this concert, I also heard a fantastic story about how the concert actually came about.

Nina Nerandžić, the abbess (head) of Gradac Monastery in southwestern Serbia, was sitting in the garden of Hotel Moskva in central Belgrade several weeks ago.

On nearby Terazije Square, during the football World Cup, every four years there is traditionally a huge trading session for Panini football sticker albums, which have been extremely popular in Serbia for decades. That was also happening while Nina was sitting in the garden having her drink.

Among the children and adults in the square (there is no age limit), she spotted her former professor from the Faculty of Teacher Education, a jazz critic and journalist and artistic director of the Belgrade Jazz Festival – Vojislav Pantić. She went over to say hello, and the conversation soon turned to the possibility of promoting his current book in Raška – Nina is on the board of the Raške duhovne svečanosti (Raška Spiritual Ceremonies).

“You could bring a jazz band to perform that same evening too!” Nina enthusiastically suggested.

Little did she know that, at exactly the time of the festival, Voja was helping arrange Marta Sanchez and her band’s appearance at the Belgrade club Bluz i Pivo, and that, completely by chance, she had one free day on the tour.

Welcome to Raška

This was my first time in Raška – a town in a region considered the birthplace of the Serbian state many centuries ago, but also a kind of center of Serbian spirituality, with a significant number of historically important Orthodox monasteries. The town itself has around 6,000 inhabitants and its own local charm, as well as dedicated organizers at the local Gradac Cultural Center, who put a great deal of effort into making us feel comfortable and enjoy our short stay in town.

As I already mentioned in the previous piece, my role consisted of moderating a conversation about Vojislav Pantić’s book “Jazz Sketches of Serbia.” Since we had already done four promotions together that I have mentioned on Eurojazzist, I won’t go any deeper into this segment of the evening, except to say that the audience was satisfied. Voja is a skilled storyteller who knows how to hold an audience’s attention and shape the “dramaturgy” of his presentation, and it also helps that you can see he genuinely, wholeheartedly enjoys what he does.

Doing the Right Thing

The concert was held at the local Cultural Center, in a small multipurpose hall with 220 seats, with somewhere between 50 and 100 people in attendance on this occasion – which I would consider quite a good turnout given the size of the town and the kind of jazz Marta Sanchez plays. There were also several actors in the audience who were taking part in other segments of the Raške duhovne svečanosti program, so the audience was a mixture of locals and program participants from other cities.

Probably keeping in mind the specific context and the event she had been invited to – she was not performing for the specialized “avant-garde audience” that will be waiting for her at Jazzfestival Saalfelden in a few days – Marta Sanchez sprinkled her regular trio repertoire with a couple of jazz standards, namely compositions by authors such as Jaki Byard or Thelonious Monk, all the way to the encore, which featured a wonderful version of Billy Strayhorn’s “Isfahan.” I also felt that the material was skillfully paced so that it moved almost imperceptibly and gradually from accessible jazz toward the more complex original pieces she recorded on the trio’s latest album, “Perpetual Void.”

It is also worth mentioning that on the current tour Marta Sanchez presented a different live version of the trio from the one on the album, joined by two young musicians – bassist Kanoa Mendenhall and drummer Mark Whitfield Jr.

Mendenhall particularly caught my attention, as she was given considerable space for her solos, which she played without overplaying or “flashy” attention-seeking solos, but with great competence and a strong sense for the music of the band. One day, when she becomes famous, I’ll have a good story about how I saw her in Raška in 2026 when she was still a “promising artist.”

As I already mentioned, there was also an encore. It wasn’t artificial, with the band walking off for a moment and then coming back on its own to average applause. It was heartfelt, and all the more beautiful for it.

Finally, the evening ended with a dinner together and conversations about Serbian cuisine (the unbelievably large, enormous portions of meat at our hotel restaurant), music… and life. This morning we also managed to grab ten minutes for an interview focused on her current solo album “For the Space You Left,” which I also wrote about briefly in the previous Randomizer. I hope I’ll manage to prepare that material for publication over the next few days.

Sometimes I get frustrated that there aren’t too many concerts by foreign musicians in Serbia that suit my taste. But sometimes, through a chain of coincidences, an extraordinary event happens that changes my impression. I appreciate every such moment and look forward to those yet to come.

The first album I’m writing about this week is also the last one I listened to –just a few hours ago. I was scrolling through Instagram with my morning coffee and saw a video on a story posted by Fully Altered Artist, saying that John Hollenbeck had released a new album and that it’s „incredible record“.

I have some very fond listening memories connected to Hollenbeck. When I was just starting to listen to contemporary jazz a little over 20 years ago, one of the first bands I fell in love with was his The Claudia Quintet. I was lucky enough to see them live once as well. Later I also grew to love his large ensembles. And a few years ago I saw his duo performance with Marianne Trudel at Jazzahead! – and that was great too. Somehow I “skipped” the band GEORGE due to the always (too) large amount of new music, but there will be time.

Over these years Hollenbeck has somehow managed to evolve his expression in just the right way – every new project and ensemble sounds fresh and different, while somewhere at the core we still recognize Hollenbeck as a very layered composer and arranger, but also as a musician who bases his music on intriguing rhythmic patterns.

The current album „Peace and Justice мир і справедливість PAZ E JUSTIÇA“ refers in its title to the ongoing wars in the world, and particularly the one taking place in Ukraine. There is plenty of information about the genesis of the album on Bandcamp, and here I would only add that he recorded it with the Portuguese Hot Club Jazz Orchestra. I can’t elaborate much after just one listen, except to say that it is excellent music and, as always, a very creative approach to the large ensemble format. Hollenbeck doesn’t deconstruct it, but somehow manages to find new angles and approaches while respecting the format and tradition.

On Monday I’m travelling to an event called Raške duhovne svečanosti, where I’ll be moderating a talk about a jazz book. The town of Raška is small and located in the not particularly developed southwest of Serbia, about a 3–4 hour drive from Belgrade, so naturally it isn’t on the map of major jazz events. However, on this occasion Spanish pianist Marta Sanchez, who is building a rather nice career in the US, will perform there. She will actually have three dates in Serbia – first at Raške duhovne svečanosti, followed by two appearances at the Belgrade club Bluz & Pivo (one jam session and one trio concert). At the concert I’ll be seeing, she’ll play in a trio with bassist Kanoa Mendenhall and drummer Mark Whitfield Jr. Very cool!

Since I hadn’t kept up enough with her discography over the past couple of years, I checked what had been happening and found her solo album „For the space you left“, released earlier this year by Out of Your Head Records. I was fascinated!

An important aspect of this record is its approach to prepared piano, which doesn’t mean that this is an avant-garde album in the sense of complete improvisation based on sound texture. The preparation is there to enrich the sonic picture, but the focus is on the essential values of solo piano expression based on the holy trinity of composition, arrangement and improvisation. Every segment here seems equally important and effectively highlighted, and Sanchez shines precisely in these fine nuances, in the interplay between melody and sound texture. I’m looking forward to seeing her trio, but I’m also glad that her visit led me to discover this wonderful album.

I’m concluding this week’s Randomizer with a look at the Fluidian project, behind which is Romanian multi-instrumentalist and sound artist Emil Gherasim. I received a message from him a couple of weeks ago, introducing his work. What immediately caught my eye was that he recorded his latest album with Nils Petter Molvær, and that he had previously recorded with Arve Henriksen. Enough for me to make a note and remind myself to listen to the album „Windscapes“ when I had the time.

It is actually a collaborative album with Molvær, featuring compositions by both musicians, which already says enough about the direction of the album itself. However, Molvær doesn’t play on every track, while those on which Emil Gherasim is the only musician irresistibly remind me of some of Eivind Aarset’s more introspective work. In the album credits he is listed as playing „synths & noises, guitar & electronics, piano, sample-based chamber orchestral elements (strings and woodwinds)“, so in that sense his expression is sonically rich and colorful enough, while compositionally it differs from Molvær’s. Although, you could easily think he was a “Scandinavian musician” if you found yourself in a blindfold test.

It was 2019 when I first seriously asked myself: could there be something wrong with the way jazz is presented to audiences live?

In October that year, I was one of the guests of the “Jazz in Germany” programme organised by Initiative Musik and the German Federal Foreign Office, where, among other things, we visited Deutsches Jazzfestival Frankfurt. The programme was OK and quite similar to the concept common in Southeast Europe: some legends, some middle-aged mainstream performers, and a few bands from the more avant-garde side of the scene.

However, something felt strange. While we were waiting in the foyer before the concert evening began, I looked around and soon realised that I was by far the youngest person in the room (I was 39 at the time). By my rough estimate, the vast majority of the audience was 55+ or even older. I kept looking around to see if I could spot at least someone around my age, but the result remained more or less the same: perhaps I noticed only a few “younger” couples in their 40s, along with the few of us from the group who stood out from the average.

I didn’t understand it. By then I had been to various festivals around Europe and, although older audiences had always dominated, the age structure had never been quite this uniform. There was always a mix. I wouldn’t say the programme was really the problem either, as it was only partly “conservative”, but no more so than, say, the Belgrade Jazz Festival, where the audience is considerably younger. At the time, I was simply left puzzled, but I didn’t think much more about it.

On this same trip through Germany, a conversation had been organised for us with the artistic director of Jazzfest Berlin, Nadin Deventer, who was at the beginning of her tenure at the time. She spoke with great enthusiasm not only about the programme, but also about the way the concerts would be presented to the audience. She talked about the creative stage and sound setup for Anthony Braxton’s concert, festival locations, etc. I realised that this was not simply a desire to choose an “unusual location” or come up with some viral stunt for a young audience, but an attempt to approach the presentation of jazz music in a fundamentally different way from the usual one.

A few days later I returned home to Serbia and started thinking about all of this. From the beginning of the last century to today, music has evolved in unimaginable ways. Both in terms of genre and in the production of studio releases. On the other hand, the way music is presented in a concert setting has remained more or less the same for decades. You have a concert hall, a stage, a sound system and an audience sitting in chairs opposite the musicians. There is lighting, perhaps some projection on a video screen, 3–4 concerts per evening in a simple chronological order. Applause, a routine encore, an exhibition in the foyer to fill the time before the concert, a panel discussion as a side programme that interests only journalists, and that’s it.

Over the years I have attended festivals in many attractive locations, sat in stages inside fortresses and castles, on mountain tops, in museums, churches, on beaches, in botanical gardens, and all sorts of other places. But the essence of the music presentation was still the same, and the relationship between musicians and audience was organised in more or less the same way, with minor variations in sound or in the way we sit (or lie down) in front of the musicians.

Here we might note that (at first glance) a lot has changed from 2019 to today. One of the biggest changes is the approach to social media and the rise of TikTok and the Reels format on Instagram. It has become almost imperative to do something crazy, unusual, out of the ordinary, something that will make us stop doomscrolling. If we are talking about music, we can notice the rise of “flash mob” performances, where a group of performers suddenly appears in the middle of a city, plays or dances their piece and disappears, and then someone records it and shares it on social media and it goes viral. It is also attractive when someone plays in an absolutely unusual location, such as a cave, deep in a forest, and so on. Tourism has long been intertwined with concert offerings, but this connection has evolved even further in recent years.

My view is that this ubiquitous segment of the “evolution” in music presentation primarily concerns the evolution of advertising and PR strategies. As someone whose everyday work is connected to media and public relations, I certainly understand why these innovations are important and necessary. But as a lover of jazz, avant-garde or simply creative music, I feel that we need to go deeper, beneath the tip of the iceberg.

I started doing my current job in that same year, 2019, when I was on the “Jazz in Germany” trip. Over the years, the Komunikart agency has, among other things, specialised in working with museums, galleries and independent contemporary art productions, so my everyday work has included writing press releases based on curatorial texts, interviews with curators specialising in contemporary art, features about particular exhibitions, and so on. I studied philosophy for a time and during my student years socialised with art historians (whose study group was at the same faculty), so in a certain sense this new job felt familiar to me, while at the same time representing an exciting journalistic and intellectual challenge.

Thinking about the way curators conceive exhibitions in museums and galleries, my mind kept returning to what Nadin Deventer had said in Berlin. I couldn’t remember every individual detail, but in the way she presented her ideas I recognised much more of the approach of a contemporary art curator than that of a typical “jazz programmer” or “artistic director”. Of course, who is going to play matters and the essence is still the music and quality performers (by whatever criteria), but the way that music is presented matters just as much.

Let’s develop that analogy with the visual arts. In a conventional museum exhibiting paintings from previous centuries, the paintings will be in conventional frames, with standard lighting, arranged in an appropriate thematic order and hung on the walls, more or less at eye level.

If we are talking about contemporary art, for example from the second half of the 20th century or the 21st century, the situation becomes more complex, with installations and video art, performances, and so on. The way we think about gallery space changes, as does the positioning of works, and the lighting is different. You might come across a labyrinth; or move from a room with paintings and installations into a space for video projections; or into some kind of interactive situation where, for example, you have to squeeze past naked performers and “brush against” them (the legendary performance by Marina Abramović and Ulay).

Now, let’s imagine a jazz concert in a typical concert or theatre hall. Everything we have already mentioned – a slightly raised stage, rows of chairs, 3 concerts per evening, 60 minutes of music, applause, a spontaneous or forced encore, and so on. This kind of setup would be analogous to a museum display of 18th-century art. On the other hand, jazz music is very much alive, potent, the scene is full of creative people, young musicians who keep emerging and recording exceptional albums. The last thing we could say is that jazz is museum music, although conservative and traditional jazz, focused on the achievements of the middle of the last century, still exists and is still performed.

We could therefore say that the music being performed is somewhat disproportionate to the way it is presented, that is, to the usual concert stages and halls. If we connect this with the ever-present desire to bring the world of jazz closer to a new and younger audience, the further conclusion would be that something has to change in the very approach to what constitutes a “jazz concert”.

I am aware that there are counterarguments to these ideas. Many festivals simply bring in pop performers to attract young people who might hear some jazz along the way, and this principle has been around for decades. Many organisers simply rely on a “performer for young people” to attract an audience even if the concert takes place in a “boring” venue. I am not disputing these strategies, but I think they are simply not enough – something that the most progressive concert programmers in jazz are themselves recognising.

We could also say that concert halls with appropriate acoustics, sound systems and architecture are simply built to transmit sound to the audience in the most perfect way possible, just as it is played on stage. Or that they are designed to meet the need to rationalise seating for as many people as possible. That is absolutely true, but it represents only one piece of the “puzzle”.

Do jazz musicians simply walk into a studio, press REC and play? Or do we have a sound technician who meticulously sets up the sound, technicians who position microphones, amplifiers and monitors in particular places, and then a sound engineer who later spends several hours mastering? Studio work itself has also evolved significantly over the decades.

And then, when all of that is finished, we have people who write texts about the album, create visual art for the CD and LP cover, take photographs for promotional materials. Everything that we as listeners “hear” is mediated through the work of all these people and is never simply “the music as it was played”, but the product of an appropriate concept and modification of the original musical idea, additionally passed through the “filter” of our personal experience of listening to jazz, our personal worldview, our view of art in general, and the mood we are in when we listen.

With all this in mind, it would be logical to approach concerts as creatively as possible, but also with great respect for the emotional and intellectual depth of jazz as an art form. In that sense, I think it is important to separate the “advertising approach” from what is essentially connected to the art itself. And this brings us to the point of the text – we need concert curators.

We need them because programmers/selectors/artistic directors (in most cases) do not deal with these things, or do not know how to deal with them. At least they need to start thinking about them as best they can.

For years, the Pančevo Jazz Festival in Serbia has had a theatrical set at the back of the stage – some kind of abandoned factory or the ruins of an old building. Anyone who regularly comes to Pančevo for the festival knows this set well and has a particular visual association with the festival. They know they will not simply enter the Cultural Centre of Pančevo looking the same as on any other day, but that during the festival it will represent an entrance into a different universe, one we associate with the jazz festival and quality music.

This is not a major change compared with the typical festival situation, but we can feel that even a small intervention changes the atmosphere and, ultimately, the perception of the music, even if we are listening to it in an ordinary concert hall.

So, for example, we can hire set designers. We can hire visual artists to enrich the concert space in a particular way. Or filmmakers to conceive what will be shown on the video screen behind the stage. Or perhaps on special screens in the foyers. A photography exhibition does not have to be presented in standard frames; the possibilities are endless.

A fantastic example of an approach to concerts is the band Nik Bärtsch’s Ronin, which for years has had its own stage lighting technician (or rather – artist). It was not simply lighting that followed the musicians from above, as is usual, but particular light sources were positioned in different places on stage, while the person responsible for the lighting controlled these sources so that at every moment they followed the music and were in harmony with it. The original musical idea was not “compromised”; quite the opposite – the experience of Bärtsch’s concept of zen-funk minimalism was enhanced through a visual approach corresponding to the broader artistic idea.

All of these are approaches that are not overly invasive in relation to classical jazz presentation and that respect the limitations of standard concert halls. But if we do not want to stumble around dealing with the visual aspects of performances even though this is not really our speciality, there is no shame in hiring professionals. Curators. People who will not simply place some work of contemporary art in the concert space, but will devise and realise the festival’s visual concept together with commissioned artists, and through conversations with the festival’s artistic director and selector, with whom they would jointly determine what best suits the festival’s reputation and the space in which it takes place.

One of the most interesting examples of so-called “jazz curation” I saw was in 2016 at the artacts festival in the Austrian town of Sankt Johann. On the main town square there was a small wooden hut, a “sound cabin”, in which festival performers played three-minute solo improvisations for one person during the afternoon. You would arrive a little earlier, register with the organiser, who would enter your slot in a table, show up at the agreed time and, for €2 per person, have a completely private mini-concert. Because of the great interest, in practice these were often concerts for two. I had the fantastic pleasure, for example, of having Mikołaj Trzaska play a saxophone improvisation just for me and my partner Monika; and a natural part of the concert was also chatting a little before and after the performance – because such proximity makes something like that feel natural.

For obvious economic reasons, this is not feasible as a festival’s “main programme”, but it points to the possibilities of a creative approach to jazz concerts.

What I particularly liked here was precisely the emphasis on that essential approach to art – removing every possible form of mediation in the conventional sense, to the point where the musician is literally a metre in front of you, creating music on the spot, just for you. It was not about presenting jazz as something different from what it essentially is in order to make it “more attractive”; quite the opposite – what was emphasised was precisely its essential quality.

I am also a great lover of concerts in nature – especially those involving smaller spaces and the absence of professional amplification, where the mediation between artist and audience is likewise minimised.

It is also great when we are not simply “thrown into nature” for its own sake, or for tourism-related reasons, but when it has some artistic meaning as well. At the recent concert by Tord Gustavsen and Trygve Seim in the Romanian village of Socolari, on the estate of painter Gheorghe Fikl, I felt how this particular natural setting worked ideally with the aesthetics of Scandinavian jazz, in surroundings where we could hear a stream and found ourselves at the edge of a dense forest, with a stage made of stone and wood, in a place where “sounds next to silence” resonated with the environment. Here we did have conventional amplification, professional cameras and all the rest, but the spirit of the place fully matched the spirit of the music.

At this very concert, Gustavsen and Seim performed together with Fikl, who painted on a canvas to their music during the second part of the concert. I especially emphasise this because an encounter with the world of visual arts does not only bring jazz a creative approach to presenting music, but potentially also a new, artistically highly educated and interested audience. People who may not listen to jazz, but who certainly have the potential to grow to love it or at least occasionally enjoy it at a concert.

Why not address precisely them, and do so in a way that organically includes that community? Instead of straining to reach as many people as possible through the most general approaches, the right path might be precisely this targeted engagement with communities with which jazz has essential points of contact. And not (only) through media campaigns, but through the active inclusion of programmes that correspond to the spirit of contemporary art, that is, by bringing jazz closer to this kind of approach.

Through that process, we, the existing jazz lovers, will also come away enriched by new experiences, artistic and human perspectives.

I’ve written about Jakob Bro on Eurojazzist on several occasions, both as a musician and as a producer and owner of the Loveland record label. I’ve also mentioned the festival of the same name, which takes place in Copenhagen in late November and early December. I first saw him live as a talented guitarist in Tomasz Stańko’s band; later, his performance with the “ECM trio” of Thomas Morgan and Joey Baron was one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen. A few years ago, I also watched the fantastic documentary Music for Black Pigeons, in which Jakob Bro is one of the key protagonists, and I grew even more fond of that whole “musical universe” around him. Ever since Loveland Records was revitalized, I’ve been following its new releases great interest, including Palle Mikkelborg’s excellent album Light earlier this year.

In short, you could say that I am a “fan”. So, as expected, I was happy when I saw the announcement of his album 8, whose official release was scheduled for August 8 — today. I marked the date in my reminder, and already this morning I found the album on Tidal and played it.

Since the previous release New Morning, and perhaps even earlier, there has been a noticeable tendency for Bro to turn towards larger line-ups, so it is not surprising that he gathered an octet here. This time he opted for a double rhythm section: drummers Marcus Gilmore and Brian Blade, and double bassists Larry Grenadier and Anders Christensen. There are also two saxophonists: Chris Cheek (tenor) and Jesper Zeuthen (alto), and the amazing Craig Taborn on piano. The repertoire consists of compositions by Jakob Bro and Paul Motian.

Besides Bro expanding his line-ups, his musical ideas are now also moving in somewhat freer directions — not necessarily towards “free jazz” in the conventional sense of the term, but definitely towards a more uninhibited playing and arranging expression. At times we hear his recognizable melodic passages soaked in folk sensibility, but also some more avant-garde pieces. After a couple of listens, my impressions are still somewhat divided and I am more inclined towards the “old Bro”, but it is far from the case that I don’t like this music. If I had approached it without any previous knowledge of the author, absolutely nothing would be missing.

I started listening to saxophonist Alden Hellmuth’s album Tether after reading Peter Margasak’s recommendation, but also after this release appeared on a few other lists of the best jazz albums of 2026. All those recommendations were well deserved, and what I find particularly impressive is how deeply rooted the album sounds in the jazz tradition — and especially in the alto saxophone tradition from Charlie Parker to the present day — while remaining fresh, without pandering to trends or adopting an overly modern approach to composition and arrangement. So, Hellmuth scores where it is most difficult: in pure jazz competence and the ability to produce interesting themes and solos again and again.

There is also an interesting double bass duo consisting of Logan Kane and Miller Wrenn, alongside drummer Justin Brown and a couple of guest musicians, among whom Haana Lee (sound design, effects and processing) stands out. Their contribution is undoubtedly significant and the band is very creative rhythmically, without staying within predictable bop patterns. But the band never resorts to “tricks”, “gimmicks” and “shortcuts” in seducing the listener, but rather builds upon the fundamental achievements of acoustic jazz through fine nuances and delicate creations, from its historical peaks to the 21st century.

I first came across the name Helene Glüxam a few years ago, on the NASOM (The New Austrian Sound of Music) list by Austrian Music Export, as part of a programme that supports selected Austrian artists in performing abroad. I also noticed that last year she won the Austrian Jazz Award in the “Best Newcomer” category. At the time, there was no album released, only a few YouTube clips that I watched and I remembered her name — and now, finally, a solo album has appeared, released by the active Swiss label Unit Records.

So, this is a solo release on which Helene Glüxam plays double bass and sings, which in itself can suggest many different directions of expression — from pleasant-sounding mainstream jazz to the avant-garde improvised performance in the style of Joëlle Léandre that I am particularly fond of. Glüxam, however, builds her own path that belongs to neither of these two directions, but is rather a kind of “testing the ground” and exploring her own possibilities as an author and performer. Her singing is without lyrics and functions as an equal instrument alongside the double bass; they play off each other and complement each other through improvisation, but often also through very accessible melodies or arrangements that sound like stripped-down acoustic adaptations of indie rock or pop songs. An interesting start to the career of this talented musician.

Nils Petter Molvær has been active on the scene since the 1980s, and with the albums Khmer and Solid Ether he brought a genuine shift in the jazz landscape, earning what can rightfully be called legendary status. More than 25 years have passed since then, during which this musician has tirelessly released new albums and remained active on concert stages around the world, consistently maintaining the highest standards in his work.

Before turning to his new album Be Quiet, recently released on Edition Records, it is worth reflecting on the career trajectory of musicians who reach their “peak” relatively early. By this I do not necessarily mean the quality of their music, but rather the status they enjoy within the “jazz community” – among jazz listeners, critics, festival programmers, and others.

If you are a more experienced listener of instrumental music who has followed the rhythm of the jazz industry for at least two decades, you will notice that the market simply cannot absorb the number of new musicians who emerge and establish themselves year after year. This is perfectly logical and understandable – listeners, along with everyone else interested in jazz, have certain physical and psychological limits beyond which it is impossible to go.

New and fresh talents are always welcome, and the community embraces them with joy and enthusiasm. They begin appearing in best-of-the-year lists and rankings of leading musicians. Festivals compete to book them and refresh their lineups. At the same time, the vast majority of jazz festivals (at least the more ambitious ones) need some kind of “jazz legend” in their program. These are the artists who sell tickets and attract audiences that do not listen to jazz every day, but become engaged when a festival arrives in their city, eager to experience a major cultural event.

Many jazz musicians in their later years eventually introduce significantly younger players into their bands, automatically gaining renewed relevance, revitalizing their artistic voice, and entering their mature phase with fresh enthusiasm.

Market trends change as well: some years avant-garde musicians are on the rise, other years it is crossovers with hip-hop and electronics; sometimes there is a return to the political and socially engaged values of jazz, while at other times the carefree fusion revival takes center stage.

So we have young talents, and we have veterans whose status is unquestioned. Which brings us to the fact that the “collateral damage” of an oversaturated market is often made up of musicians somewhere in between – no longer young and “hyped,” yet not old enough to have reached those “legendary years,” when they stand above trends and seasonal fashions. I am not saying this is necessarily the case, nor that we can generalize with complete certainty, but I believe we can agree that the argument makes sense.

Back to Nils Petter Molvær. The Norwegian trumpeter turns 66 this September. Last season was marked by a release (and concerts) celebrating his landmark album Khmer, which also served as a reminder of the calibre of musician we are dealing with. On the global music scene, the trend of performing classic albums live has long since taken hold, and it is both a commendable and attractive practice. Yet jazz life is always defined by what an artist does next.

In that respect, Be Quiet is a complete success for Nils Petter Molvær – at least from the perspective of this listener and writer. For years his dominant musical language has been associated with small combo ensembles, often more energetic and forward-moving than introspective in the way we usually associate with ambient Scandinavian jazz. Now, not only do we hear Molvær in a series of different duo formations (and one trio), but the individual pieces themselves are remarkably restrained – minimalist not in the conventional sense of repetition, but rather through the small number of notes played and the interplay between those notes, intervals of silence, and atmospheric soundscapes.

At this point the reader might assume this is an ECM-type album. That would only be true to a certain extent, because ECM does not hold a monopoly on the use of silence in jazz, nor is every form of restraint automatically defined in such (sub)genre terms. On the other hand, Molvær himself was one of the musicians largely responsible for shaping precisely this kind of aesthetic over the past 30 to 40 years. Then there is the production, which sounds rich and immersive even within such a sparse instrumental setting – especially in those tracks where the Norwegian trumpeter leans heavily on electronics.

That, as mentioned, is his trademark. What is fascinating, however, is the way Molvær manages to create a profound sense of space and a sound that surrounds and embraces us even in the more acoustic passages. Take the opening track “Bangkok,” where Chang Jing plays the guzheng (traditional Chinese zither); “Copenhagen,” featuring Marilyn Mazur, which opens with the sound of a triangle (or a similar percussion instrument); or the closing “München,” with the outstanding Anja Lechner on cello.

We have already noticed that each composition bears the name of the city where it was recorded. In this way the album achieves a conceptual dimension not merely through the geographical location of the studios, but also because every track features a musician associated with that particular place. At the same time, although one might assume that such a large number of guest musicians could easily slip into an “all-star approach,” the album remains unexpectedly coherent and focused in its core arranging structure, while still unmistakably shaped by Molvær’s sensibility – and ultimately by the trumpet sound we have loved and remembered for decades.

This more “electronic” side of the album is filled with highlights. “Rome,” with synthesizers reminiscent of some of John Surman’s early albums; “London-Hackney,” where Jan Bang (keyboards / sampling) and Imogen Heap (voice and electronics) join him, allowing Molvær’s powerful solos to intertwine with ethereal vocals and dense electronic soundscapes; or “Berlin-orbit 4,” where his duo partner is Alva Noto, perhaps the piece that sounds most like “classic Molvær” at his very best.

Perhaps this is simply my own wishful thinking, but this is exactly the kind of album that feels perfect for the current stage of Molvær’s career, as well as for the landscape of contemporary jazz today.

The jazz world no longer longs for unexpected and radical innovations, having accepted that the grand narrative of jazz history has already reached its conclusion (pardon my Fukuyama). But it does long for legends. For those musicians who possess an essential sound; whose tone can be recognized in a second; who can captivate us without a grandiose musical environment surrounding them.

Some may call it “authenticity.” We might just as well call it artistic or instrumental “charisma.” Whichever terminology you prefer, I believe Nils Petter Molvær is precisely that kind of musician. Four decades of an outstanding career are already behind him, yet it is entirely possible that the very best is still to come.

A few months ago, after an interview with Esat Ekincioğlu, I mentioned a new trio in the making, featuring the bassist alongside saxophonist Hayden Chisholm and drummer Aleksandar Škorić. They first played together in early May in Novi Sad and Belgrade, and have now continued working together, presenting their progress at Jazz Club BAM Belgrade.

It is an interesting venue run by Hayden Chisholm, a New Zealand musician who has left a significant mark on the European and global jazz scene and who lived in Germany for many years. Due to personal circumstances, Chisholm has now been living in Serbia for quite some time, which is an exceptional thing for the local jazz scene, since my country is hardly a major European jazz hub attracting renowned musicians from all over the world – quite the opposite.

Over the past three or four years, BAM Belgrade has organized a number of interesting jazz concerts by international bands, but it would be difficult to say that it has managed to establish a consistent jazz program. A few weeks ago, however, Chisholm also brought part of the very active Russian jazz diaspora in Belgrade into the story, and they enthusiastically got to work, establishing a regular jam session program. Since very little information about Russian jazz reached Serbia over the past couple of decades, these “new” musicians are mostly unfamiliar to me, but that is, of course, my problem. In any case, I plan to learn as much as possible about our new fellow citizens, many of whom arrived in Serbia after the beginning of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

I missed the trio’s previous performance for personal reasons, but this time I was there and genuinely enjoyed the concert. I had no information about how much of the material had been rehearsed or whether any of it had actually been written down, but what I heard had the structure of free, yet thoroughly melodic improvisation. From the perspective of (this) listener, it meant enjoying the individual talents and distinctive personalities of each musician – and each of them truly has a recognizable playing style. It was equally clear that all three possess an outstanding sense of collective improvisation, listening, and reacting to what happens in a fraction of a second. These are all excellent starting points for further development of their original music, something I am already looking forward to.

After about 45 minutes, their performance seamlessly slipped into a jam session. First, the trio was joined on stage by American trombonist Corey Wilcox (yet another talented foreign musician who moved to Serbia for personal reasons), followed by Russian pianist Oleg Belov. After my initial disappointment that the part of the concert I had come for was over, things very quickly moved into deconstruction and a freer improvisational discourse, rather atypical of jam sessions of this kind in Serbia. Probably because drummer Aca Škorić simply does not like to bop, and quickly redirects the rhythmic structure toward his own improvised terrain, leaving the others with no choice but to follow him at full speed. After the first part of the session, more musicians gradually joined in until the Russian crew had completely taken over the stage, continuing to maintain a high level of intensity and energy throughout the performance.

Interestingly, apart from Aleksandar Škorić, there were no Serbian jazz musicians at this session at all. They mostly perform at Bluz i Pivo, currently the most active jazz club in Belgrade, but that alone is hardly the full explanation. I would rather not engage in unfounded speculation about what the problem might be (although I do have a few ideas), but it is a pity that, on such a small scene, musicians are not a bit more connected beyond their usual circles and combinations.

New listens

I first heard flutist, vocalist, and composer Naïssam Jalal a few years ago at jazzahead! in Bremen. I enjoyed the concert, but simply never found the time to include her albums in my listening rotation. Earlier this year I read an excellent interview with her in We Jazz magazine, which reminded me of her talent, and I have finally started listening to her new album, Landscapes of Eternity. It is a repertoire the composer wrote “while traveling through the landscapes of north India, exploring the connection between spirituality, music, and nature.”

The lineup features Naïssam Jalal: flute, vocals; Samrat Pandit: vocals; Sougata Roy Chowdhury: sarod; Leonardo Montana: piano; Zaza Desiderio: drums; Nabankur Bhattacharya: tabla; and Flo Comment: tanpura. A quick look at both the concept and the list of musicians immediately makes it clear that this is music deeply rooted in Indian musical traditions. But even more interesting is the extent to which listening to Naïssam Jalal reminds us that the finest traditions of modal, free, and spiritual jazz owe many of their greatest moments to Indian culture.

As Naïssam Jalal herself says, she worked on the album for six years. She has lived on different continents and possesses a profound understanding of the musical and cultural discourses of both “Western” and “Eastern” civilizations. That is why her music feels genuinely organic – you can simply sense it. Spiritual, emotional, meticulously arranged, recorded, and presented to the listener.

Jazz Across Europe

Ever since I launched the Eurojazzist Instagram page, the algorithm has been serving me posts from countless festivals and concert venues across Europe. Every now and then, I find myself amazed by just how many exciting jazz events are taking place all the time—events I had never heard of before, yet which are no less impressive than the best-known ones within their particular subgenre niches. That is how the delightfully named Summer Bummer festival appeared in my feed one day, featuring an outstanding two-day program.

Just to highlight a few concerts as an illustration: DaughterDaughter (Camila Nebbia – Amalie Dahl – Sun-Mi Hong – Elisabeth Coudoux), Erosão Septet (Mariá Portugal – Angelika Niescier – Lotte Anker – Carl Ludwig Huebsch – Moritz Wesp – Matthias Mueller – Reza Askari), Rodrigo Amado – Joëlle Léandre – Gerald Cleaver, Marta Warelis – Mariá Portugal, Alexander von Schlippenbach – Paal Nilssen-Love…. Wow.

The festival takes place in the Belgian city of Antwerp, and you can find the full program here. Highly recommended if you are anywhere nearby.

This summer, Pat Metheny toured several European cities with his Side-Eye lineup, prompting numerous social media posts, videos, and reflections on his work in general. One of my Facebook friends published a post asking people to recommend albums by this legendary guitarist, hoping to explore his music in greater depth.

I cannot say that I am a great admirer of Pat Metheny’s body of work, but I immediately remembered an album I first heard more than twenty years ago, when an acquaintance gave me a pile of fusion CDs in the hope of converting me from the camp of traditionalists into a lover of electric jazz. Among them were all kinds of recordings from the seventies and eighties, from which I came to appreciate a couple of John McLaughlin’s early albums and one release simply titled Jaco.

Of course, this was the album recorded by Jaco Pastorius, Pat Metheny, Bruce Ditmas & Paul Bley. According to the information available online, it was the first studio recording for both Jaco Pastorius and Pat Metheny, which alone makes it an interesting curiosity and a valuable historical document. I posted my recommendation and immediately knew that I would also play the album on Radio Belgrade, in my own radio programme, as part of a regular series dedicated to promoting precisely this kind of hidden gem from jazz history.

I began writing the introductory text for the broadcast, which eventually became considerably longer than my usual opening remarks, yet I still felt there were things I would have liked to add. So I decided to publish a slightly expanded version here, drawing on and further developing that original radio text.

Jaco was recorded in June 1974. At the time of the session, Pastorius and Metheny were highly talented, but still young and largely unknown musicians on the jazz scene. They were brought together by the much more established pianist Paul Bley for a studio session, joined by Bruce Ditmas on drums. They performed five compositions by Carla Bley and three by Paul Bley. The album was originally released on Bley’s own label, Improvising Artists.

While searching for historical sources that might tell me something more about the album itself, I came across a fascinating Pat Metheny interview from 2001, which can still be read on his website. The legendary guitarist explains that, in fact, none of them even knew they were recording an album.

“...that record with Paul, Jaco, Bruce and myself came about kind of uniquely. I didn’t know that it was to become an album – none of us did. I showed up to this place that I thought was a rehearsal hall and it turned out to be a recording studio. Paul had rented this stack of Marshalls and a wah-wah pedal, because he had just heard this rock band and knew he had an electric guitar player coming, and wanted me to play like that. I had never even seen this kind of wah-wah pedal before...”

This is the first part of the interview referring to this particular recording session. Metheny then explains that it was a Morley Wah-Wah pedal.

“I asked, “Do you really want me to play through this? And with this stack of Marshall amps with my 175?” I didn’t even know how it would sound, but that’s what Paul wanted, so I tried it. I spent the day with this pedal trying things and again, I didn’t even know it was a recording date. I think Jaco felt more like he was on his own turf – at least he got to use his own amp! – and he certainly did better than me on that date”.

As a listener, I have no objections whatsoever to Metheny’s sound on this album. After reading what he wrote, I immediately thought of The Köln Concert and the whole context surrounding that performance—the fact that Keith Jarrett performed on a faulty piano, that he wanted to cancel the concert, and agreed to play only after being persuaded with great difficulty. Sleep-deprived, in pain, after eleven o’clock at night. One of the dominant narratives is that precisely because of these difficult circumstances he adapted his playing style, ultimately resulting in the best-selling solo piano album in history, the album that marked Jarrett’s career.

Of course, as we know, Jarrett himself was never particularly enthusiastic about the attention this album received, nor did he regard the Cologne concert as his masterpiece. Yet the fact remains that adapting to certain technical circumstances contributed to the uniqueness of what we hear as listeners. When artists of the highest calibre are involved, such adaptation can manifest itself in highly creative ways, as demonstrated both by Jarrett’s famous album and by Metheny’s recording debut.

The album opens with Carla Bley’s composition “Vashkar.” It is a striking and beautiful theme whose introductory exposition sounds remarkably accessible here, somewhat reminiscent of Miles Davis’s In a Silent Way, largely owing to Paul Bley and his electric piano. As the piece develops, however, it gradually changes its rhythmic flow, while the focus shifts to Pat Metheny’s highly psychedelic improvisational deconstruction, from which Pastorius’s bass theme emerges to dominate the remainder of the track.

What follows is a furious improvisation, a tour de force, a fusion that evokes the atmosphere of Miles’s albums from the early seventies, yet also possesses something of its own, something authentic. Two young musicians on stringed instruments weaving a spider’s web, constructing new sonic structures and layers, and hinting at a new musical world. They sound completely relaxed, as though they were simply playing at an informal jam session (which, apparently, is exactly what they thought they were doing), without worrying too much about how coherent or fully shaped the final result would be.

Although the album could certainly be described as fusion jazz, it is far from a conventional release. One could equally describe it as highly psychedelic, particularly with the interplay between Bley’s electric piano and Metheny’s guitar in mind. Within this musical context, Pastorius’s bass stands out with its full and precise tone, foreshadowing the unfortunately short but epochal career of perhaps the most celebrated bass guitarist in the history of jazz.

“Donkey” begins with a conventional bop structure in the drums and bass. When the musicians begin tearing it apart into tiny fragments, the effect is even stronger than it would have been had they started directly from Miles-inspired fusion, precisely because the contrast is greater. At the same time, we hear musicians who master that tradition at the highest level. Once they begin deconstructing it, we approach them with even greater confidence, instinctively understanding that they are doing so from a position of profound knowledge of jazz.

“Vampira” is perhaps my favourite composition on the album. It begins in medias res. There is Pastorius’s powerful bass phrase that carries the listener forward, with Ditmas following closely behind, and a clear musical development built upon those foundations. Although the composition itself follows a more straightforward fusion structure than the previous pieces, it arrives only after the listener has already been thoroughly unsettled and led into unfamiliar territory. “Vampira” does not emerge out of nowhere; rather, it comes across as a kind of resolution—or perhaps a culmination—a logical narrative conclusion to everything that has been played up to that point.

A little later, when Pastorius truly begins to display his virtuosity in “Batterie,” it does not come across as a misplaced demonstration of technical brilliance. Instead, it arrives at precisely the right dramatic moment. Whether this was intentional or not is ultimately of little importance. As listeners, we can simply be grateful that the album was assembled in exactly this sequence before its final release.

Pat Metheny points out that this is, above all, Paul Bley’s album. On the original release, all four musicians received equal billing, but only a few years later the album was reissued under the title Jaco, following Pastorius’s meteoric rise on the jazz scene.

He discusses this in the same interview, not without his characteristic sense of humour:

“This was 1974, so it was two years before Jaco had joined Weather Report and become well known. So, when he got famous, Paul put the record out again with a new cover and called it “Jaco.” Then about three years later I began to get pretty well known myself with my own band, the Pat Metheny Group, and Paul put the record out again, plugging it this time as “Pat Metheny’s first recording.” I am sure he will put it out again. And again. And again. (LAUGHTER)”

In the end, however, the album never attained legendary status, and critical responses to it were somewhat mixed. For example, in his three-star review for AllMusic, Scott Yanow writes:

“Pastorius sounds quite powerful, but Metheny’s tone is kind of bizarre, very distorted, and not at all distinctive at this point. The recording quality is a bit shaky throughout the electronic set, and the group does not quite live up to its potential, but Pastorius shows that he was already an innovative player, making this an LP of historic interest.”

While it is true that we do not hear Metheny here in the style that would later become his trademark, and although the album remains something of a studio and publishing curiosity, it nevertheless offers a fascinating musical sensibility and exciting music at the crossroads of two eras: the early fusion shaped by Miles’s psychedelic explorations, and the more clearly structured fusion that would later be most famously represented by bands such as Weather Report.

I have always been drawn to precisely these kinds of transitional albums, especially those recorded during that period that nevertheless depart from the dominant fusion aesthetic. It may not be a legendary album, but that only makes it all the more rewarding to rediscover it fifty years later and listen to it from a new perspective.

Lately, there has been a lot of discussion about how (jazz) critics put together their lists. A few weeks ago, the DownBeat Critics Poll was published, followed a few days ago by the Francis Davis Jazz Critics Poll (Mid-Year 2026). Substack writers have also been publishing their mid-year lists, and so on. Over the past month, I published two album lists myself, although I deliberately tried to avoid ranking them from No. 1 to No. 10 and so forth. I’m well aware of the limitations of these kinds of lists and of the many factors—some subjective, some a bit more objective—that influence our votes. I’ve touched on this subject several times in previous articles as well.

Musicians have every right to be dissatisfied with critics and to express that dissatisfaction publicly. That happened on my Facebook profile (on a public post) where a jazz musician I greatly respect and whose music I truly enjoy wrote the following in response to the results of the DownBeat Critics Poll:

“If you’re reaching out to journalists, introducing yourself, sending them your albums, lobbying for votes... then a handful of them will end up voting for you. Otherwise, they rarely go looking for musicians on their own; they mostly cover whatever gets served up by the various jazz circles.”

Naturally, I felt that the comment was directed at me as well, since I consider myself a jazz journalist. Although I’m not a DownBeat critic. I wanted to respond in the spirit of a public debate, which I always welcome. So here is my reply, reproduced verbatim:

There is no “neutral” scenario in which every jazz journalist listens to all 5,000 albums released every year in the U.S. and Europe alone, not to mention the rest of the world. We all discover music in different ways: labels send it to us, we follow certain labels ourselves, we get to know some musicians personally over the years, we attend festivals and hear something interesting, we read other journalists, streaming services recommend something, and so on.

What the average jazz journalist listens to over the course of a year is the result of all these different factors. Since the “objective” scenario—where a journalist spends every day independently searching for and listening to every new album released anywhere in the world, while ignoring the emails arriving in their inbox—is simply physically impossible, we’re left relying on these other factors: the connections, contacts, and affinities we’ve built through many years of dedicated engagement with the jazz scene.

The claim that jazz journalists “don’t look around for music” is, in my opinion, a rather reductive conclusion. First, it contains a kind of generalization I never like (”they’re all the same”). Second, many journalists already receive “too much” music from the outset—emails and new albums from labels and musicians in such overwhelming quantities that it’s physically impossible to give all of them the focused attention they deserve.

So yes, I completely agree that it’s impossible to make an “objective” selection of the best musicians or albums, for all the reasons mentioned above—and several others that there’s simply no room to discuss here. If we truly wanted complete objectivity, the only solution would be to abolish polls altogether and simply stop organizing annual jazz awards and critics’ lists. But we all know that’s not how the market works. All I can do is include multiple disclaimers whenever I publish such lists: to emphasize that these are albums I love, albums I’ve actually managed to hear, and not to suggest that anyone is objectively “the best.” For me, such lists serve only as personal recommendations.

End of quote.

In any case, these are my “two cents” on the subject. The discussion could certainly be developed much further, and I’m sure it will be. The major debates in jazz have a way of resurfacing again and again in journalism and criticism, and I’m certain this one will be no exception.

New Listens

I first heard drummer Dejan Terzić live in 2006 at the Belgrade Jazz Festival. At the time, I had no idea who he was, but I saw that Chris Speed was playing in the band, and that caught my attention. The concert was good, although it didn’t leave a particularly lasting impression on me (for various reasons—not least because the venue wasn’t great and the relatively small audience was rather noisy).

When I started working part-time at Radio Belgrade in 2013, I occasionally broadcast his concerts from the EBU radio exchange, recorded at various festivals. Then, in 2022, through the PR agency where I work, I handled the campaign for his two Belgrade performances at BAM Club, curated by Hayden Chisholm. Unfortunately, I couldn’t attend either concert because I happened to be on a vacation that had already been planned.

So, you could say I’ve been following Dejan Terzić’s work, on and off, for the past twenty years. And yet, only a few days ago I realized he’d released a new album, Grow, with his outstanding quartet Axiom, featuring Chris Speed (saxophone and clarinet), Bojan Z (piano and Fender Rhodes), and Matt Penman (double bass). The album came out on April 10 (on o-tone music label), meaning three full months passed before I even realized it existed.

I discovered it entirely by accident. I clicked on some social media link recommending new releases, saw Terzić’s name, and because I was busy at work, I simply entered “Dejan Terzić new album—check” into my digital reminder. Yesterday I finally played it. I’m sharing all these seemingly trivial details because they offer a glimpse into how a jazz critic’s search for new albums actually works. Yes, much of it is random and far less systematic than people might imagine.

Dejan Terzić was born in what is now Bosnia and Herzegovina, then part of Yugoslavia, but emigrated with his family to Germany at the age of three. He has built a solid jazz career there, and the current incarnation of Axiom has been together since 2015. That isn’t an insignificant detail. When musicians of this caliber stay together for more than a decade, they develop a kind of telepathy that results in remarkably fluid music.

Their music could broadly be described as contemporary jazz—or perhaps post-bop, understood in a very loose sense. The compositions are carefully crafted and thoughtful, yet the improvisational passages feel „loose“ in a good way. Rather than comparing the music itself, I’d compare the feeling it gives me to listening to Miles Davis’s Nefertiti or Sorcerer: music that stretches out and unfolds according to the internal („telepathic“) logic of the musicians playing it. As a listener, that creates a wonderful sense of unpredictability while also making you feel that the music is never in a hurry. It doesn’t rely on forceful themes or aggressive structures—it simply flows. I’ve only listened to it twice so far, but I can already tell it’s entering heavy rotation.

Richard Spaven’s new album, Light of Day, reached me through a much more conventional route. I’m on Edition Records’ mailing list and follow their social media, so I’ve been aware of the singles, album announcements, and everything else for months. The album’s official release (just yesterday) was almost a formality, since I’d already received it in advance. That doesn’t mean I’m writing about it simply because I got an email. I’m writing about it because the music genuinely speaks to me and fits perfectly with what I’m in the mood to hear right now.

The key PR line describes Spaven as “one of the defining rhythmic voices of the past two decades, shaping the space where jazz, hip hop, club culture and drum and bass meet.” In that sense, I appreciate his music precisely because it follows the opposite logic from many of my favorite bands. Here, the music seems to emerge from rhythm and atmosphere first, only then moving toward melody and improvisation. It won’t be one of those albums that changes my life, but I can easily see it becoming a welcome source of variety on a playlist that’s often filled with rather demanding music.

I’ve been so busy with my day job over the past week that I barely listened to any music at all, only getting back into my usual routine yesterday. I made a note of several albums and started listening, but I’ll save those recommendations for the next Randomizer, once I’ve had enough time for the impressions to settle.

Jazz Across Europe

Four years ago, thanks to a fortunate chain of circumstances, I attended Jazz Goes to Town in the Czech city of Hradec Králové for the first time. The festival combines avant-garde and contemporary jazz with showcases of today’s Czech bands, and it turned out to be a great combination. I had the chance to see some of my favorite musicians—my absolute highlight that year was Ingebrigt Håker Flaten’s Exit (Knarr)—while also discovering a jazz scene that had previously been completely unfamiliar to me.

Afterward, I stayed in touch with several Czech musicians, journalists, and jazz professionals, which is why names from that scene occasionally appear in my album recommendations.

This year’s program (6–10 October) particularly caught my attention because of the new trio featuring Rodrigo Amado, Joëlle Léandre, and Gerald Cleaver, who will be giving only their second festival performance together. There’s also Arcanum (Trygve Seim, Arve Henriksen, Anders Jormin, Markku Ounaskari), BRIQUE, featuring one of my favorite pianists, Eve Risser, along with several other exciting bands.

I hope I’ll manage to return this year as well—provided the rhythm of my other commitments allows it.

I have to admit that the inspiration for this text is not particularly original: I came across a Substack post by Lee Mergner titled “My Top 10 ECM Albums” and thought I could write something similar. However, although I do have my favorites from the entire history of ECM Records, I’m far from having listened to a sufficiently large number of albums released from the seventies through the 2000s. At the time those records were coming out, I wasn’t even born yet, or I was just a child and later a teenager; and when I eventually matured enough to start listening to ECM, I never really approached its full discography in a particularly systematic way.

Things changed in the 2000s, though, and I started paying attention to ECM Records around 2003–2004. When I launched the Jazzin.rs website in 2009, I intensified my tracking of current developments in jazz publishing, at least when it came to several of the most important labels. Finally, in 2011, I got a job at a company that distributed ECM releases in Serbia—specifically in a role that involved ordering CDs and vinyl from ECM Records and coordinating sales across several retail outlets and through our website—and my professional interest reached its peak. Between 2011 and 2017, I listened to absolutely every album released by ECM Records, and even after I later changed jobs, I was already “infected” and continued to follow a large number of releases.

There were also very personal, private reasons why ECM was (and still is) frequently played in my home, something I wrote about last week.

Be that as it may, taking all of this into account, I feel competent enough to compile my own list of the best ECM albums released in this century—that is, the ones that resonated with me the most. Since 10 is quite a “tight” number, many excellent albums have inevitably been left out. But I didn’t want to overextend the list. These ten selections are also an invitation to you, the readers, to share your own lists in the comments—whether from the 21st century or from the entire history of ECM Records, as you prefer.

The list is arranged chronologically by year of release, without implying any other kind of ranking.

Tomasz Stanko Quintet – Dark Eyes (2009)

It was a spectacular album, and at the same time unexpectedly communicative and youthful. Stanko’s distinctive playing style and compositional voice gained fresh energy through beautiful, uplifting arrangements and several standout pieces, and music from the album was later featured in the opening credits of the series Homeland, which I followed for years. This was also the first time I heard Jakob Bro as a “talented guitarist,” while the excellent band also included Alexi Tuomarila on piano, Anders Christensen on bass, and Olavi Louhivuori on drums.

Top song: Terminal 7

Charles Lloyd Quartet – Mirror (2010)

Before this album, I hadn’t paid much attention to Charles Lloyd, until I read a review written by my colleague Slađana Mitić from Jazzin.rs. I trusted her judgment, gave the album a listen, and quickly fell in love with it. There’s no need to overdescribe the beautiful sound of Lloyd’s saxophone, which dominates the album; but here again, the formula of pairing a legendary veteran with a young band at the height of its powers proved essential, with Jason Moran playing a particularly prominent role. The rhythm section of Reuben Rogers and Eric Harland is also outstanding. Although they had already played together on Rabo de Nube, the band here sounds even tighter and more playful.

Top song: Go Down Moses

Nik Bärtsch’s Ronin – Llyria (2010)

I had heard of Nik Bärtsch even before he joined ECM, but his most convincing work came between 2008 and 2020. There were other albums I loved, but this one, for me personally, was decisive in moving from the “casual listener” phase to “die-hard fan.” A master of zen-funk minimalism, of repetition in which the band as an organic whole takes precedence over individual achievements.

Top song: Modul 47

Eivind Aarset – Dream Logic (2012)

The first time I heard Dream Logic, I thought Manfred Eicher had “clipped Aarset’s wings” a bit, having previously listened to him in more energetic settings. But with each subsequent listen, the album drew me in more and more. Aarset’s guitar sounds fragile, vulnerable—just like the album as a whole. His longtime musical collaborator Jan Bang is also present, one of the most creative figures in electronic minimalist improvisation, along with Audun Kleive on log drum. Together, they created deeply introspective music that dives into the depths of the human soul.

Top song: Close (for Comfort)

Tord Gustavsen Quartet – Extended Circle (2014)

The Tord Gustavsen Trio was already very popular among Serbian jazz fans in the early 2000s, but at the time I wasn’t quite ready for his music. That changed once the trio became a quartet and Tore Brunborg joined the group. They first recorded The Well, and I saw them live that same year at the Garana Jazz Festival in Romania, which left a strong impression on me. But it was only with the release of Extended Circle that I became truly enthusiastic. There are several outstanding pieces here, but none like “Eg Veit I Himmerik Ei Borg,” an absolute masterpiece and one of the finest jazz compositions recorded in the 21st century (and beyond).

Top song: Eg Veit I Himmerik Ei Borg

Paolo Fresu, Daniele Di Bonaventura – In Maggiore (2015)

Paolo Fresu is a wonderful trumpeter, possessing that specific retro jazz aura—not only through his music but also through his posture, the way he plays, and his stage presence, which evokes a kind of modern-day Chet Baker. Although he has recorded for many labels, I believe his ECM albums best bring his qualities to the forefront. Together with bandoneon player Daniele Di Bonaventura, he created an album that on one hand carries an unmistakable Mediterranean flavor, and on the other embodies the essential values of early Miles Davis.

Top song: Ton Kozh

Mette Henriette – self titled (2015)

At the time of this album’s release, Mette Henriette was only in her mid-twenties, and I found myself wondering in disbelief how someone so young could create such a mature musical work—especially a double album. This minimalist masterpiece also has a very interesting structure, where certain melodic and textural motifs seem to reappear, not in the form of classical repetition, but like scattered musical fragments that emerge during listening, reminding us of the main musical thread and idea. The album feels simple in its core motifs and melodies, yet complex in structure, in the density and intensity of the emotions it evokes.

Top song: All Ears

François Couturier, Tarkovsky Quartet – Nuit Blanche (2017)

The lineup—François Couturier (piano), Anja Lechner (cello), Jean-Marc Larché (soprano saxophone), and Jean-Louis Matinier (accordion)—plays, quite simply, beautiful music. In their crossover of classical music and jazz, composition takes center stage, but what truly defines these musicians is their exceptional sense for arrangement, performance nuance, and interaction. In that sense, the quartet possesses those subtle, essential qualities of jazz, even though it doesn’t function within the framework of conventional jazz arrangements.

Top song: Nuit Blanche

Mathias Eick – Ravensburg (2018)

I associate this album with a small anecdote. On my radio show on Radio Belgrade 3, I most often play contemporary or avant-garde jazz—music that has a certain “edge” in the broadest sense. My editor Ksenija is usually on the same wavelength. When I sent her Ravensburg for broadcast, I hoped she wouldn’t say it was too “cheesy” or something along those lines. Instead, she called me just to say that this was simply beautiful music. She had nothing to ask about technical details or corrections—this was the sole reason for the call. Mathias Eick, then, plays accessible, almost pop-like music within a jazz idiom, with songs about family and love. There are no extended solos, and even when there are solos, they often feel like fully written-out melodies. But what melodies! Eick is a top-tier melodist, the kind that rarely comes along, and this album represents the peak of his compositional craft.

Top song: Girlfriend

Giovanni Guidi Trio & James Brandon Lewis – A New Day (2024)

Since recording This Is the Day for ECM Records, Giovanni Guidi has entered his most prolific compositional phase. His delicate, refined playing style is infused with excellent interaction within the trio, featuring Thomas Morgan and João Lobo. On A New Day, they are joined by James Brandon Lewis, which might be seen as something of a surprise, as I didn’t quite perceive JBL as an “ECM artist” in the narrower sense of the term. But I was truly impressed by how compatible his style is with Guidi’s, and how well they understand and complement each other. That said, this album is not in the top 10 (only) because of JBL, but primarily thanks to Guidi’s compositional and arranging talent, which he has honed carefully over time to finally reach the elite group of the most creative European jazz pianists.

Top song: Luigi (The Boy Who Lost His Name)

At the time of publishing this column, I’m at the European Film Festival Palić in northern Serbia, where I’m part of the festival’s PR team. Since the next five days will be quite busy, I prepared this piece—and the next one—a few days in advance. After several days at the festival and three days of camping on the Croatian coast, I’ve settled back into my usual routine: listening to a mix of new and old albums.

The first thing waiting for me was the album I’d been most excited about: Omni by the James Brandon Lewis Quartet. I first got into JBL when Divine Travels came out with William Parker and Gerald Cleaver—naturally, it was that rhythm section that “pushed” me to check out a musician I knew nothing about at the time. I was instantly hooked and started following everything he released. At the same time, I knew he wouldn’t always have such heavyweights behind him, and that over time he would shape a band—or bands—of his own, something more distinctly his. There have been several lineups along the way, but the one with Aruán Ortiz on piano, Brad Jones on bass, and Chad Taylor on drums feels, to me, like the definitive version.

I’ve written before that JBL might be the only contemporary saxophonist who has truly revived the spirit of Coltrane—not in terms of style or specific phrases, but in that deeper, spiritual dimension that comes from constant searching and pushing forward. It’s there in the long, intricate lines that seem to flow effortlessly from his instrument, rising toward something almost celestial.

He’s such a commanding player that he naturally dominates the sound wherever he appears. And yet, he’s also a remarkably humble musician—someone who clearly values and respects his collaborators, and who understands that the music always comes first. In this lineup, everything feels organic and fluid: at times complex, at times striking you directly, whether through free jazz, playful compositions, or blues-inflected passages.

I’ve loved every album by this quartet, and Omni, released on Intakt, is no exception. It sounds both familiar and new—fresh in the way only a truly cohesive band can be. You can hear what happens when a group fully locks in, when master musicians surrender to something greater than themselves. If you want to call that a higher force—even a divine one—I wouldn’t argue.

I’ve been following news of the new album by legendary Norwegian trumpeter and innovator Nils Petter Molvær for quite a while. He played a key role in shaping the aesthetics of creative electronic jazz from the 1990s to the present day. His new album, Be Quiet (Edition Records), was finally released a few days ago and has already found a steady place in my rotation. It’s a beautiful example of minimalism and intimacy: Molvær works in a duo format, collaborating with a different musician on each track, with recordings made in various locations around the world. On paper, that might sound like a scattered concept, almost like a compilation. In practice, it’s the opposite—the album feels strikingly cohesive, held together by Molvær’s unmistakable sound and a carefully curated set of collaborators, chosen with intention rather than for any superficial “all-star” appeal. For me, his music thrives in exactly this kind of stripped-down setting.

As I write this, I’ve put on headphones to listen to “Desolation Row,” a track by David Maranha (electric organ) and Rodrigo Amado (tenor saxophone), from their upcoming album due out on August 7. I’ve long been aware of Amado’s work and consider him one of Europe’s finest free jazz saxophonists, though I’ve followed his discography somewhat sporadically—there’s always too much in the queue. This album kept popping up on my social feeds, so I finally decided to give it a proper listen.

At first, the track’s 40-plus-minute duration suggested the logic of a live performance: a slow-building introduction, a single piece unfolding patiently over time, rich keyboard textures over which Amado plays in a melodic, almost exalted manner—gradually building intensity until it becomes fully frenetic. A quick look at the liner notes confirmed it is indeed a live recording. It’s so well produced that you might not even realize it at first, until the applause at the end. I don’t know how many tracks the full album will include, but even this single piece, available on Bandcamp, feels like a complete statement.

Giuseppe Doronzo (baritone sax, Iranian bagpipe) has already been mentioned here as a member of AVA Trio, but he’s active in other contexts as well. His album, Futuro Ancestrale, features Andy Moor (electric guitar) and Frank Rosaly (drums, percussion). They are “infiltrating diverse ancient cultures, charging traditional Ethiopian, Lesotho and Persian music with snarly punkish brio and granular post-rock textures, employing unorthodox approaches to modern instruments and contemporary takes to those from a bygone age,” as the Bandcamp description vividly puts it—and it captures the spirit so well that I’ll leave it at that. One listen in, and I’m intrigued.

Back to the United States: SML are already well established, and there’s little I can add about their latest record “Spontaneous Music Live”. What continues to impress me is their ability to dissolve individual egos. Just when you expect someone to step forward with a wild solo, another player cuts in—then another—yet it never feels disjointed. Instead, it unfolds as a seamless continuum. On the European scene, the closest comparison might be Nik Bärtsch’s Ronin, while at times SML also bring to mind early-2000s Medeski Martin & Wood. As with Jeff Parker’s work, Bryce Gonzales plays a crucial role here, engineering, recording, and mixing everything live in stereo. I love when a record captures the raw energy of a live performance, but I also value clarity and balance in production—and Gonzales delivers both with precision.

Jazz Across Europe

This week’s top recommendation is Jazzwerkstatt Peitz in Germany, this year’s winner of the Deutscher Jazzpreis for Festival of the Year. The lineup includes Aki Takase, Maria Portugal in different configurations, Darius Jones & Otomo Yoshihide, and many others. I haven’t experienced it firsthand, but from the footage I’ve seen and the settings it uses, the festival looks genuinely compelling—paired, of course, with a strong program. It takes place a week before Jazzfestival Saalfelden, which typically draws a lot of attention from fans of contemporary and avant-garde jazz, so timing-wise it has effectively “dodged a bullet” by avoiding overlap. This year’s dates are August 14–16, and the full program is available here.

Tord Gustavsen is probably the musician I’ve seen most often from the “ECM family.” That, of course, has to do with the quality of his music, but also with the fact that both my partner Monika and I love it—she’s the one I usually travel with to concerts and festivals. If we see that Tord is playing somewhere nearby, the choice is easy. Over the past three years, we haven’t even had to travel far: he performed three times in neighboring Romania and once in Pančevo, the town where we live. Each time in a different formation: as a classic trio, in a duo with drummer Jarle Vespestad, solo, and finally as a duo with saxophonist Trygve Seim.

The venue Fikl Art Stage in the village of Socolari was particularly interesting—we visited it for the first time last year. It is an estate run by the Romanian painter Gheorghe Fikl. Once a mining site, later an agricultural area, Socolari has come back to life over the past twenty years thanks to creatives who bought old stone village houses and turned them into studios, ateliers, and galleries. Fikl himself went a step further, merging several properties into a complex that now includes multiple gallery spaces and two concert stages, right at the edge of the village where the dark mountain forest begins. Among other things, Fikl has a passion for organizing jazz concerts, so last year the pianist Jacky Terrasson performed here, as did the Tord Gustavsen Trio.

The atmosphere on the estate itself is idyllic: chairs, sofas, and tables are casually arranged near the concert space; local dogs wander around; a small forest stream runs through the middle of the grounds. The stage is made of stone and wood. On Monday evening it was even chilly despite the July date—I later joked that it was so we could better feel the Norwegian sensibility and the atmosphere of the music performed by Gustavsen and Seim.

Both musicians are perfect representatives of what we call the ECM sound, and their concert vividly embodied that famous ECM slogan: “The most beautiful sound next to silence.” Tord Gustavsen has developed a completely authentic personal style within this sensibility—at the crossroads of Norwegian traditional music, classical music (with a particular emphasis on Bach), and minimalism, and the music we perceive as atmospheric Scandinavian jazz beyond bop patterns.

Modest and humble, he creates music that on a higher level radiates an energy akin to gospel, though shaped by a different culture and musical tradition. On this occasion he was joined by Trygve Seim, a seasoned ECM artist whom one could most simply describe as a follower of Jan Garbarek’s style—and in that sense, a perfect match for Tord’s music.

That is, for the music Gustavsen performs and arranges. The repertoire for this new duo is primarily based on Bach’s music, often devoted to Jesus Christ, which Gustavsen has previously performed in a trio format. All this does not mean that the Norwegian pianist has turned to classical music, but rather that he has aligned the repertoire of one of the greatest composers of all time with his own arranging and performance style.

If you approach this music with an open mind and heart, you won’t even notice much difference between Scandinavian traditionals, new original compositions, and Bach—they all merge into an original jazz expression. Quiet, delicate, humble before a higher force, and deeply respectful of the audience, whom it invites to experience that rarely attainable sense of elevation: the feeling that, for at least an hour, we have entered another dimension beyond everyday trivialities, worries, and obligations. Not a dimension of escapism, but one of deep immersion into the essence of our being, with music as the medium.

The moment the two musicians begin to play, this feeling becomes almost literal. Tord and Trygve do not need to “conquer” the space or “capture” the audience’s attention, because everyone is already fully present. Once they start playing, there is no coughing, no rustling in seats, no whispering. Instead, we hear: the gentle murmur of the stream just behind the stage; the occasional rustle of leaves; perhaps a bird or a distant dog barking. Nature itself. And of course, the piano and the saxophone.

We feel a Nordic freshness, and our senses are fully attuned to absorb every sound of the instruments. Tord Gustavsen is a master of communicating with silence, aware that every note exists in relation to it, to the flow of time, to the air. Silence prepares us to perceive each note as essential. There are no empty melodies or solos that merely fill space between climaxes; every touch of the keys matters. So does every inhale or exhale of Seim before he plays a note, a phrase, or a solo on the saxophone. The way he approaches the instrument; the way he shapes his tone. Highly melodic and lyrical, yet never excessive—just like Tord.

This gradual unfolding in musical narration corresponds to what contemporary pop culture calls a “slow burn.” To truly experience the climax, it is not enough for Gustavsen and Seim to suddenly play loudly; we need to become familiar with their playing, both individually and together. To observe their interaction, how they respond to one another, how they build solos and compositions. And then, once we have absorbed it all—once we understand how they approach both the music and each other—we are ready. One of them raises the volume, the other joins in. As Tord deconstructs melodies and chords, Trygve releases the brakes and cuts through the air, his sharp sound carving into our emotional fabric—full of pathos, emotion, and drama that can bring you to the verge of tears.

When they finally reach the first pause, Tord Gustavsen addresses the audience very quietly—he speaks just as he plays. Yet not without humor and charm: he introduces Seim as “the guru of tantric saxophone,” and perhaps expresses a slight “concern” about how Bach himself might react to these interpretations.

For this occasion, the performance was divided into two sets. In the second, Gheorghe Fikl joined the duo on stage with a large canvas. We were told we would witness painting in real time, accompanied by Gustavsen and Seim. Naturally, this concept shifted some of the focus away from the music itself (I often found myself closing my eyes during the first set), toward anticipation—what would he paint, and how would Fikl fit into this precise, seemingly hermetic musical language of the two Norwegians?

At first I was slightly skeptical, with the feeling that some of the aura and magic of the event had been lost. However, Fikl clearly understood how to approach this interactive performance—with a strong awareness of the sound produced by large painting brushes, and a sense of dramaturgy. The Romanian painter applied his strokes in fragments, approaching the canvas and stage, then retreating out of view, leaving space for the process to unfold gradually and without excessive focus on his work. As if he, too, were “setting a theme” and “playing a solo.” Through thick layers of dark paint, the figure of a dog began to emerge—becoming clearer with each return to the stage.

The performance extended deep into the cool Romanian night and concluded with an encore by the two musicians alone, performing “a Ukrainian lullaby,” as Gustavsen announced. Fittingly and elegantly, they brought this musical and artistic evening to a close.

The most beautiful sound next to silence, indeed.

Before getting into the concert itself—Ceramic Dog led by the legendary Marc Ribot—it’s worth briefly considering the context and location. Pula is a city in Istria, a Croatian region that has long been perceived as more “left-leaning,” or at least less nationalistic than other parts of the country. The city of Pula itself is also strongly associated with an antifascist tradition.

The Ceramic Dog concert took place on July 4, which also coincides with the former Yugoslav holiday Dan Borca (Day of the Fighter). The date commemorates a 1941 meeting of the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia, when the decision to launch an uprising was made. Although the holiday was officially abolished after the breakup of Yugoslavia, antifascist organizations continue to mark it. In his opening remarks, Željko Marković—an indefatigable organizer behind the Jazzbina concert series—did not miss the opportunity to highlight the importance of music and art as spaces of resistance and nonconformism, especially in times like these, when right-wing pressures on culture, fundamental freedoms, and ultimately human lives are growing stronger.

The US Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776, so the concert date carried significance both locally and for the country Marc Ribot comes from—a country where decent people are ashamed of Donald Trump and his rule, and rightly fear the ways in which its democratic spirit is being dismantled and eroded. For someone coming from Serbia, what is happening in the United States feels like a long-familiar déjà vu. Much of what the world now experiences as a shock to common sense through the rise of right-wing and populist politics has, in Serbia, been unfolding since the 1990s—with only a brief pause in the early 2000s, before the democratic prime minister Zoran Đinđić was assassinated by a sniper. In the meantime, the world has, in a sense, “become Serbian.”

So there we are, on the terrace of a venue called Circolo, in the very heart of Pula. The organizer sets the tone with his speech; Marc Ribot walks on stage and greets the audience with the mention of “Dan Borca” in Serbo-Croatian. He begins with a highly distorted, improvised solo version of The Star-Spangled Banner, before being joined by Shahzad Ismaily and Ches Smith. Of course, Hendrix’s iconic Woodstock performance comes to mind—a great guitarist nodding to another. But Ribot is too singular for simple homage; his frayed, seemingly unpolished and deliberately unbalanced playing style becomes a commentary on the anthem itself—a commentary on the United States today.

Croatian journalist Zoran Stajčić from the website Ravno do dna put it perfectly, so there’s no need to reinvent the wheel: “One of the most important guitarists of resistance in today’s world left his mark by gradually suffocating and silencing the distorted echoes of his version of the anthem. As if that familiar melody were fading, melting, and disappearing in his hands. It was precisely the silence within its patterns that felt ominous, like something erasing the very paragraphs of the most famous Constitution Americans have been proud of for 250 years.”

The distorted solo improvisation flowed into “Soldiers in the Army of Love,” which Ribot introduced with verbal—and far more explicit—comments about “political violence dramatically increasing in the United States.” At this point, we were already deep into the concert, yet Ribot still refused to let us simply “enjoy the show.” He was deadly serious in his tirade, pulling us into what he had to say. Only once we had sobered up ourselves could the punk-rock onslaught begin, followed by a sequence of more “conventional” Ceramic Dog pieces familiar to fans of the trio—somewhere between high-energy alternative rock and the restless improvisational spirit of three legendary figures of the New York scene.

At the beginning, a (justified) anger reigned, amplified by noise; at one point, this gave way to a rather extended improvised set in which the band, without any sense of urgency, explored their instruments. It might have seemed—at least on the surface—out of sync with the previously furious, high-energy, punk- and rock-oriented set.

Marc Ribot, as a soloist, is known for his apparent “mistakes” and “slippages” during improvisation—but these are integral to his style and reflect a deeply perceptive way of revitalizing the basic ideas of jazz. Just as an unexperienced listener of jazz music might hear irregular drum accents or saxophone overtones as mistakes, Ribot challenges the seasoned listener—the one who thinks they “know” jazz but gets comfortable with the fixed phrases and stylistic patterns that many jazz musicians fall into. Ribot’s “mistakes” somehow always arrive at exactly the right moment, carrying both musical and conceptual meaning.

On a broader level, the entire performance can be understood in similar terms. Ribot translates his artistic principles into the very structure of the concert. In Pula, he did not follow the logic of a “typical band” building toward expected climaxes. In this „three-act form“, after anger and improvisation came resolution—through the lyrical and deeply moving “Palestine” (Ismaily was wearing a shirt with the same inscription), followed by the tender and emotional “When the World’s on Fire.”

Before the encore, I believe that many expected “Activist,” but that didn’t happen either—instead, the band played “Lies My Body Told Me.”

Back in 1983, the legendary Yugoslav alternative rock band Disciplina Kičme released an album brilliantly titled “Sviđa mi se da ti ne bude prijatno” (“I like it when you’re not comfortable”). Marc Ribot seems to have adopted this general idea as part of his artistic credo, reshaping it through his own complex artistic persona. In a performance where strong political engagement meets catchy, singable rock; where the most delicate, tender vocals can move you to tears, alongside distorted, restless improvisation; where the essence of pop and rock music as entertainment collides with lyrics that evoke humanity’s darkest crimes and the slide of “democratic” Western societies toward fascism.

In these stylistic oscillations and contrasts—hallmarks of Ribot’s entire career—I see a (conceptual) reflection of the broader unease experienced by contemporary “anti-capitalists” and “activists”: the tension of someone who ultimately cannot live outside this world and must make necessary (and sometimes questionable) compromises. Ribot’s slightly bitter but playful body of work both shakes us awake and gently lulls us, pointing to the gap between the dream of a fairer society that always seems out of reach and the small, personal wins and everyday pleasures we actually live with.

As much as I sometimes feel deprived of regular jazz concerts by relevant artists in Serbia, I’m equally grateful that the surrounding region hosts several truly outstanding festivals. One of them is the Jazz Festival Ljubljana, which I’ve visited a few times before, during Bogdan Benigar’s tenure as artistic director—a period marked by a clear affinity for the more avant-garde edges of contemporary jazz.

Today, the festival is curated by Tina Lešničar and Borja Močnik, who are somewhat more open to mainstream jazz stars, as well as younger acts operating at the intersection of jazz with electronic music, hip-hop, or soul—trends that resonate with younger or non-jazz audiences. At the same time, this remains a large-scale festival with a broad stylistic scope, offering something for everyone. My own selection included performances by Cry, Sun-Mi Hong BIDA Orchestra, Aki Takase’s Timeless Ensemble, and the Patricia Brennan Septet.

Cry is one of the projects presented by this year’s Artist-in-Residence, the young Slovenian saxophonist Lenart De Bock. By coincidence, I’ve been following his work for some time—he also plays with Serbian double bassist Miloš Čolović in the excellent trio Soothsayer, and he is part of Rok Zalokar’s Zehltet, whose album I reviewed earlier this year. Although still at the beginning of his recording career, De Bock already displays a clear talent as both a musician and a bandleader.

Cry reminded me most of the Scandinavian group Cortex, whose frenetic playing about fifteen years ago brought a fresh take on 1960s American jazz—particularly that fine intersection of post-bop and early free jazz inspired by Ornette Coleman. Beyond technical skill and a solid grasp of jazz history, what truly matters for a band like this is conviction—something that can’t be measured by formal musical criteria. Watching De Bock, Čolović, trumpeter Tomaž Gajšt, and the seasoned drummer Gerald Cleaver, I had the distinct impression that all four musicians genuinely live this music, rather than merely treating it as one stylistic option among many in the jazz songbook.

The concert took place outdoors, beginning in daylight while Dee Dee Bridgewater was still performing in one of the larger halls of Cankarjev dom. Cry played on the open-air stage in front of the monumental building, in pleasant shade but still during the day, as the audience was just gathering and settling in—one of the earlier time slots. All of this can make it harder to fully concentrate on the music, especially given the mixed seating concept: café-style tables and chairs in the front rows, followed by standard seating, with a bar at the back and a lawn to the side. Naturally, this creates clusters of audience members with varying levels of engagement. Still, Cry navigated these conditions with ease, playing with full energy and enthusiasm. Exactly as it should be.

This was an excellent introduction to the Sun-Mi Hong BIDA Orchestra, which brought together several of my favorite musicians—most notably saxophonist John Dikeman, who has been performing in Serbia for years alongside drummer Aleksandar Škorić, and the brilliant Mette Rasmussen, whose playing injects energy into numerous European jazz and improvised music ensembles. Sun-Mi Hong herself has recently come onto my radar as an outstanding composer and arranger. The lineup also featured Jozef Dumoulin, whose Fender Rhodes I first encountered on Vincent Peirani’s albums, as well as John Edwards on double bass and Alistair Paine on trumpet.

In a conversation several days before the concert, Sun-Mi Hong mentioned that the musicians in BIDA Orchestra are given a great deal of freedom once she establishes the core theme and tone of a piece. In that sense, this is very much a “players’ band,” yet it avoids both the formulaic sequence of solos and the unrestrained looseness typical of classic free jazz. Instead, it moves fluidly between structure, melody, and freedom. With such accomplished and imaginative soloists, and an open framework, it’s inevitable that certain moments—or climaxes—will stand out. For me, one such moment was an incredibly intense solo by Mette Rasmussen that evolved into a kind of collective ecstasy, though there were plenty of memorable highlights from other musicians as well.

The evening continued at Club CD on the sixth floor of Cankarjev dom, requiring a brief transition from the outdoor stage to an indoor space at the opposite end of the building. For those of us who stayed until the end of Sun-Mi Hong’s set—including the author of these lines—it meant missing the first few minutes of Aki Takase’s Timeless Ensemble, featuring Daniel Erdmann on saxophones, Vincent von Schlippenbach (aka DJ IllVibe) on turntables, Tino Ribeiro on double bass, and Dag Magnus Narvesen on drums.

Several elements aligned perfectly for me here: I had long wanted to see Aki Takase live; I’m a great admirer of Daniel Erdmann’s playing; and finally, the presence of a turntablist in an avant-garde jazz setting—still a relatively rare occurrence. It was precisely the interplay between Takase and DJ IllVibe that proved crucial to the band’s aesthetic and live appeal. The contrast and interplay between Takase’s piano—from Ellington- and Monk-rooted foundations to free, unrestrained expression—and Schlippenbach’s highly creative approach to sampling, grounded in a deep understanding of jazz improvisation, was simply brilliant. Particularly striking was a passage where the two exchanged phrases in a kind of call-and-response, as well as a solo DJ piece (I could spot, among others, a Lester Bowie record peeking out of his crate, even from a distance).

After the concert, I found myself wondering whether I had simply been dazzled by this DJ component—something I rarely encounter in this context. Much like how non-jazz listeners might be blown away by a virtuosic saxophone solo that leaves me indifferent, having heard thousands of similar ones. Perhaps that played a role, but I’m quite convinced that DJ IllVibe was an excellent fit for this ensemble.

There was also Takase’s playful onstage narration and a touch of witty conducting. Daniel Erdmann was compelling in his contributions, but this was more of a collective spectacle than a showcase of individual achievements—so it’s only fair to highlight the contributions of Tino Ribeiro and Dag Magnus Narvesen as well. Above all, this was my first live encounter with Aki Takase—a truly charismatic legend who holds the entire history of jazz piano in the palm of her hand, only to turn it upside down and captivate even the most demanding listeners.

The following day, the Patricia Brennan Septet performed on the outdoor stage, presenting material largely based on the album Breaking Stretch, in a slightly modified live lineup featuring Jon Irabagon (alto and sopranino saxophones), Mark Shim (tenor sax), Kalí Rodríguez (trumpet), Kim Cass (double bass), Keisel Jiménez (percussion), and Dan Weiss (drums).

I have to admit it took me some time to connect with this studio material at first—it’s not immediately accessible, even if it might seem so on the surface. In a way, I had a similar experience with both albums by Mary Halvorson’s Amaryllis ensemble, in which Brennan also plays vibraphone. In both cases, we’re dealing with highly composed music, where the core themes are complex and elaborated, and where arrangements take precedence over individual improvisation. I’ve seen both groups live, and while there is space for improvisation, there isn’t a strong sense of deconstructing or reconstructing the studio compositions—rather, subtle variations within a carefully arranged framework.

This was one of those performances that won’t be remembered for a “wild solo” or a particular burst of energy, but for its high-level collective musicianship and glimpses of individual skill within a clearly defined musical context. Patricia Brennan is a serious contemporary jazz composer, demanding serious listening—despite her cheerful and engaging stage presence, where she speaks about her fascination with mathematics or her identity shaped between life in Mexico and the United States. In that sense, I found myself missing a slightly stronger leap into the unknown, but this was nevertheless a highly competent performance by one of today’s leading jazz musicians.

As is usually the case with selections like this, it’s important to start with a disclaimer: this does not pretend to be a list of the “best” jazz (and jazz-related) albums released by European musicians in the first six months of 2026. Such a list would only be possible if I were able to listen to some 1,000 or more albums released by jazz musicians across all European jazz scenes.

Instead, albums reach me through highly random channels: I follow a number of labels that match my taste, as well as the social media channels of my favorite musicians; those I haven’t yet encountered, along with their labels, send me emails; PR agents and publicists get in touch, and I’ve been on some mailing lists for quite a while; I see what my friends share on Facebook, or what someone recommends on Substack. Sometimes I hear a great concert at a festival, and then I go looking for the album. And so on.

So, although the jazz I listen to is the result of genuine dedication and love for the music, I cannot by any means claim that my selection is objective. The list will naturally include a few musicians from Serbia, but at the same time I haven’t explored production from, say, the Baltic countries, as I still lack good contacts there and a steady flow of information. Of course, I’m more likely to hear about albums released on ECM Records or ACT Music than those put out by a small independent label from Greece, Slovakia, or Belgium.

Even if I managed to listen to everything, there would still be the question of “criteria” when evaluating a scene full of outstanding, technically superb musicians. Since everyone plays brilliantly anyway, we’re left assessing “creativity,” which by its very nature brings us into the realm of personal preferences, experience, mood, and who knows what else.

And now, let’s get to the point. We all love lists. As the first six months of 2026 have passed, it feels like a good moment for a first recap. The selected 25 albums are listed alphabetically, without suggesting that any is “better” than another. These are simply the albums I’ve listened to the most, in line with my affinities and mood—in other words, the ones that have sparked the most exciting emotional and intellectual responses in me.

But before that, a few albums from 2025.

As often happens, when a new year begins you realize how much you’ve missed; some excellent releases from the previous year surface that you didn’t manage to register at the time.

Macedonian PMG Jazz released the excellent album “Inward” by violinist Gligor Kondovski and trombonist Vladan Drobicki, which reminded me of certain Punkt Editions productions associated with Jan Bang and Erik Honoré. Slovenia’s Rok Zalokar Zhlehtet released “Pieces for Collective Change” for Jazz Cerkno Records, bringing a breath of fresh air into contemporary spiritual jazz. I’ve been fond of the Finnish band Uusi Aika since their self-titled debut, and in 2025 they released the album Luurankolauluja for Puro Recordings.

Hungary’s BMC had two excellent releases: Ensemble Ensemble – Live at Atelier du Plateau, as well as “Simple Fall” by the duo Vincent Courtois & Collin Vallon. AVA Trio released the album LUNÆ, which I recently discussed with the band’s double bassist Esat Erkincioglu. I also paid special attention to Sun Mi Hong, who released the excellent album “Fourth Page: Meaning of a Nest” for Edition Records (read the interview with her here), as well as trumpeter Richard Koch, who impressed me at jazzahead! with his project “Rays of Light”.

My Favorite European Jazz Albums of 2026

Andras Des - Decisions We Make (BMC Records)

„Broadly speaking, this is a contemporary jazz album. What I find particularly interesting is that even after three or four listens, I still haven’t fully retained specific tracks or themes—I don’t get that immediate “aha, this is my favorite tune” or “that was an amazing solo” moment. And yet, I keep coming back to it. It feels more like a complex novel—with an introduction, development, multiple narrative strands, and an epilogue—than a collection of short stories, if we were to draw a comparison with literature. Or, in Netflix terms, this is a slow burn album. With a bit of patience, it reveals music that is emotionally accessible, yet layered and dramaturgically engaging“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #9: Listening Around Jazz

Angelika Niescier - Chicago Tapes (Intakt Records)

„Angelika Niescier is a saxophonist whose work I’ve been following for a long time, and this time she has a new album Chicago Tapes for Intakt Records featuring some of my favorite Chicago musicians (Jason Adasiewicz, Dave Rempis, Nicole Mitchell, Mike Reed, Luke Stewart). At first listen – very furious and explosive!“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #2: The Reference Trap

Björn Meyer – Convergence (ECM Records)

„Meyer does not emphasize the expanded range (of his six-string bass) for its own sake; rather, he plays in what might be described as a universal guitar idiom. The bass tones lend warmth and a distinct sensibility to his music, but the essential values of the compositions are universal. In the album’s strongest moments, one could almost imagine listening to études from a classical guitar method book.“

Extract from: Björn Meyer – Convergence (ECM Records)

Clément Janinet | Arve Henriksen | Ambre Vuillermoz | Robert Lucaciu - Garden of Silences (BMC Records)

„…Clément Janinet excels in blending all these ingredients (jazz structure, composition, arrangements). Yes, there are „jazz moments“, composed sections, beautiful melodies, and delicate improvisations, but at no point can I clearly separate them while listening. From the very first bars of the compositions, there is a sense of “flowing over” and an imperceptible interweaving of these ideas and elements“.

Extract from: Clément Janinet | Arve Henriksen | Ambre Vuillermoz | Robert Lucaciu - Garden of Silences (BMC Records)

Daniel Erdmann’s Thérapie de Couple - I Wanna Hold Your Hand, François (BMC Records)

„Does this combination—on the one hand complex, on the other deeply emotional music—consciously evoke the intricate relationships of couples in therapy, as the album title suggests? A situation that is anything but black and white, instead winding through a web of emotions, thoughts, relationships, passions, and intellectual clashes? If Erdmann intended to convey this complexity—human, historical, and beyond—through the music on this album, he has, at least for me, completely succeeded.“

Extract from: Daniel Erdmann’s Thérapie de Couple - I Wanna Hold Your Hand, François (BMC Records)

Evi Filippou and Robert Lucaciu - Love at Last Sight (BMC Records)

„Our preparation is to learn the scores and tunes as good as possible and then rediscover them at every gig. Robert always says let the song play, you don’t play the song. And I think that is a lot our approach. There’s a lot of talking about life and art, we listen to a lot of music together, we talk about it, we dream together, we practice sometimes things we will never perform and somehow this is our process.“

Extract from: Evi Filippou: Exploring the Unknown

Freysteinn - Thoughts (Protomaterial)

„…There was a guitar in the foreground, acting as the lead solo instrument, which I really liked. I had no idea who was playing, but I simply let myself go with it. It felt like it wasn’t a “typical jazz guitar,” but rather something with a nice balance between melody and something a bit edgy in a New York Downtown way; the same could be said for the album Thoughts as a whole, which sits comfortably within a “modern creative” vocabulary while allowing for occasional departures off the rails“.

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #13: Freysteinn | Jeff Parker | Tamara Obrovac | HAEZZ | Into the Strings

I’m Not Done Cooking – Tome 1: Beauty and the Queen (Mokuhi Sonorities)

„The octet I’m Not Done Cooking, led by French pianist Lara Humbert, who lives and works in Brussels, is a wonderful example of eclectic music that approaches each of its (possible) genre labels with love, respect, and genuine authorial enthusiasm. The promotional materials mention “elements of pop, classical music, and experimental jazz” as key references, which certainly makes sense—but only as a starting point for exploring the layered and imaginative musical journey offered by this cleverly named octet.“

Extract from: I’m Not Done Cooking – Tome 1: Beauty and the Queen (Mokuhi Sonorities)

Jasmine Myra - Where Light Settles (Gondwana Records)

“Gondwana Records is known for highly melodic releases that carry something of what we call “spiritual jazz,” or simply the warmth and gentleness of indie pop. Myra fits that sensibility well and captivates with the beauty of her core themes and compositions, without unnecessary virtuosity display.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #16: Jasmine Myra | Toša | Red Largo | Tord Gustavsen & Trygve Seim | Punkt Festival

Jasna Jovićević Quinary – Simple Joy (33 Jazz Records)

„If her previous albums drew their strength from a specific fusion of two spiritual worlds—the Euro-American and the Indian—this time the emotional charge and the arranging context of the music are grounded in local tradition and in the encounter of the Balkans, Europe (in a broader sense), and America.“

Extract from: Jasna Jovićević Quinary – Simple Joy (33 Jazz Records)

Joel Lyssarides - Late on Earth (ACT Music)

“His music has been catching my attention for a while now. Lyssarides is a highly virtuosic pianist, which always carries the risk that albums turn into demonstrations of technical superiority. Still, I don’t think he has crossed that line; the compositions and arrangements sound beautiful and coherent—making for a solid mainstream piano trio experience.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #7: Listening Recap and Beyond

Jordan Smart - Above The Street (Atlas Forge Records)

„This is a saxophonist I’ve heard in Vega Trails, Mammal Hands, and Sunda Arc—I like all those bands, and each of them has its own distinct identity. Smart is not a showy saxophonist; he adapts well to the musical context while also bringing his own signature through melodic lines. In this solo setting, the natural associations lean toward minimalistic/ambient/electronic jazz, where Smart once again finds his footing in his introspective musical language.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #15: The Making of a Concert | Mariam Wallentin | Sonic Waves | Jordan Smart | Maria Portugal & Music Unlimited

Julia Hülsmann Octet – While I Was Away (ECM Records)

„There are several aspects of this synthesis that I find particularly compelling: the way the aesthetic of the classic jazz trio fluidly intertwines with the strings; vocals that transcend genres and do not push jazz virtuosity to the forefront, yet enrich with exciting interpretations those pieces dominated by a pop sensibility.“

Extract from: Julia Hülsmann Octet – While I Was Away (ECM Records)

Kiri Ra! – nen (We Jazz Records)

„Kiri Ra! implicitly invite us to slow down and enter the right state of mind—one that allows us to fully experience every sound, every micro-interaction between the musicians; the subtle building and release of dynamics; the shaping of solos through a kind of musical conversation among friends.“

Extract from: Kiri Ra! – nen (We Jazz Records)

Mammal Hands - Circadia (ACT Music)

„The British band Mammal Hands has been on my radar for a while, and I’ve recently started listening more closely to their previous album Gift from the Trees. Their career so far has been mostly tied to Gondwana Records, where their blend of contemporary jazz and modern piano composition fits perfectly; now, for the first time, they’re releasing an album Circadia with ACT Music.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #2: The Reference Trap

Mariam Wallentin & Vestnorsk Jazzensemble - Spring Flood (Hubro Music)

„It both resembles and differs from Fire! Orchestra. Mariam’s vocal is, of course, unmistakable; the music transcends the boundaries of richly orchestrated jazz and (alternative) pop and rock, yet the authorial sensibility is somewhat different—which is perfectly natural and fine. After a few listens, I’m certain I’ll keep returning to this album.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #15: The Making of a Concert | Mariam Wallentin | Sonic Waves | Jordan Smart | Maria Portugal & Music Unlimited

Metropole Orkest - Arakatak (V2 Records)

„Conducted by one of the orchestra’s regular guest conductors, composer and arranger Miho Hazama, the album also features compositions by Vince Mendoza, Donny McCaslin, Tineke Postma, Mark Guiliana, Shai Maestro, and Louis Cole. Although big bands are not regularly on my playlist, this time I decided to break my listening routine—and I did not regret it.“

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #5: When a Jazz Critic Gets It Wrong

Palle Mikkelborg – Light (Loveland Music)

„Although our first instinct might be to label this format as “experimental,” or more mildly “atmospheric,” it contains something deeper and more fundamental—something closer to human emotional experience than to an intellectual one“.

Extract from: Palle Mikkelborg – Light (Loveland Music)

Red Largo - Hotel Neuf (Madame Vega's Boudoir)

“Red Largo, an international lineup based in Berlin, with their latest record “Hotel Neuf” takes me back to the first decade of the 21st century, when I was deeply into Gutbucket and Electric Masada, AlasNoAxis, Hilmar Jensson, Trevor Dunn’s Trio Convulsant, Zu, and so on. The quartet (…) moves at the intersection of melodic indie, post-rock, and contemporary jazz. It may lean even more toward “alternative” culture, but who cares. It’s great (mostly) instrumental music that I warmly recommend.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #16: Jasmine Myra | Toša | Red Largo | Tord Gustavsen & Trygve Seim | Punkt Festival

Shake Stew – TEN ONE TWO (Traumton Records)

„The focus is on collective playing and fine-grained nuance in arrangements and solos. Within songs that have a clear direction, many interesting things happen on a micro level—from raising and lowering dynamics, to subtle interactions between the horn section and the rhythm section, and ultimately simply good improvisations.“

Extract from: Shake Stew – TEN ONE TWO (Traumton Records)

Nils Wohlrabe / Karin Johansson / Hasse Westling - Sonic Waves (Outerdisk)

„The title reflects the content: sonic structures that depart from conventional jazz logic and venture into the realm of free improvisation, with a strong focus on instrumental texture. Although I’ve listened to many similar albums of varying quality, something here immediately clicked and appealed to me“.

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #15: The Making of a Concert | Mariam Wallentin | Sonic Waves | Jordan Smart | Maria Portugal & Music Unlimited

Szilárd Mezei Octet – Only in Movies (FMR Records)

„His compositions are highly elaborate, sometimes maze-like, yet also full of spirit, wit, and a sense of creation that radiates intelligence and thoughtful design. In that sense, Szilárd Mezei is something of an old-school intellectual… My impression while listening to the current album Only in Movies is that it represents a synthesis of the very best this musician has to offer.“

Extract from: Szilárd Mezei Octet – Only in Movies (FMR Records)

Tamara Obrovac & Transhistria Ensemble – Misečina Bila /White Moonlight (Cantus)

“This is jazz infused with elements of Istrian and Mediterranean folk music, with vocals at the forefront, supported by top-tier, fluid, melodic playing from the band: Uroš Rakovec (guitar, mandola), Fausto Beccalossi (accordion), Žiga Golob (double bass), and Krunoslav Levačić (drums). While all are outstanding individual musicians, what impresses most is how they breathe as one and move within a shared musical idea, placing the songs themselves on a pedestal.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #13: Freysteinn | Jeff Parker | Tamara Obrovac | HAEZZ | Into the Strings

Toša - Opatrně (Carefully) (Ma Records)

“The focus is on beautiful melodies, but within them you also find small “fractures” or slightly dissonant nuances: sometimes a scraping of the bow, or the sound of air escaping through the saxophone, or something along those lines. It’s clear these are musicians who are also comfortable in free music contexts, and that “nerve” surfaces within this small, intimate, home-like music.”

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer #16: Jasmine Myra | Toša | Red Largo | Tord Gustavsen & Trygve Seim | Punkt Festival

Vojta Drnek - Lost Wisdom (Ma Records)

„Drnek’s meditative pieces thus take on a kind of psychedelic quality, almost as if we’ve stepped into a dream world—or somewhere between waking and dreaming. I liked the album, and I’ll be glad if I get the chance to see him perform live somewhere in Europe“.

Extract from: Eurojazzist Randomizer 12: Talking Head(s)

At the moment of publishing this text, Marc Ribot is already well into his new European tour with Ceramic Dog, a trio that also features drummer Ches Smith and bassist Shahzad Ismaily. The final stop on the tour is Pula, Croatia, where they will perform on July 4 at the Circolo venue as part of the Jazzbina concert series. This year alone, the series has already hosted The Tiptons, James Brandon Lewis, and Exterminator ‘81, a project led by Croatian keyboardist Toni Starešinić. Following Ceramic Dog, The Necks trio will appear on September 19. In short—this is serious programming.

After contacting the organizer regarding press accreditation for the concert, I mentioned that I would write an original piece on Marc Ribot ahead of the show, since Eurojazzist doesn’t have a conventional news section for press releases. Over the following weeks, several ideas crossed my mind, the most entertaining being a possible list of Ribot’s 10 or 20 best guitar solos. I’ll definitely return to that idea at some point; however, I felt that such a piece wouldn’t be the most appropriate way to frame a tribute to the Ceramic Dog trio.

OK, let’s start over. We won’t write about Marc Ribot the guitarist. If Ceramic Dog is, to a large extent, a punk-rock trio in which Marc Ribot is the lead singer, perhaps it would be more interesting to reflect on him as a vocalist?

For four decades now, Marc Ribot has been one of the most brilliant guitarists in the world; put him in any band, give him a few tracks and a solo or two, and there’s no way you won’t notice his contribution. In Serbia, he is still most widely appreciated as “Tom Waits’ guitarist,” although there is also a strong circle of fans devoted to the “Zorn universe,” where Ribot has played a prominent role. Personally, I believe Ribot is the greatest guitarist in the history of music—and I know that statement may be excessive, but so be it. Many serious authorities would certainly understand why Ribot is (at least) one of the most important guitarists in contemporary popular and improvised music. On that point, I believe there is a consensus.

On the other hand, there is Marc Ribot as a bandleader and singer. He released his first album under his own name, Rootless Cosmopolitans, in 1990, at a moment when he had already built a magnificent body of work with Waits and with The Lounge Lizards. Since I hadn’t listened to this album in years, I played it again to check whether there was any singing on it—there is, on several tracks, starting with a deconstructed cover of Hendrix’s classic “Wind Cries Mary.”

I must admit that I might not have recognized his voice in a blindfold test—it sounds younger and different than it does today, when his vocal style is clearly more defined. It felt more like an exploration of new territory. In the late ’90s and early 2000s came two albums with Los Cubanos Postizos, where we again hear him only occasionally and in a more functional context, as he leaves the more prominent vocal roles to others.

The first Ceramic Dog album, Party Intellectuals, was released in 2008. It opens with a frenetic cover of “Break on Through” by the legendary The Doors; it feels as though this „seasoned“ Ribot is “winking” at the one who sang Hendrix 18 years earlier, opening a new chapter in his rich career.

At this point, Marc Ribot is not only a legendary guitarist, but also an author of numerous albums across different contexts—from solo acoustic guitar to more avant-garde band settings. There are many musicians who begin their careers in relatively commercial waters, only to explore more experimental expressions later on. But what if you’ve already spent decades as one of the most prominent figures of the boldest branch of the American avant-garde and improvised scene—that is, jazz understood in its broadest sense?

Seen from that perspective, the turn toward Ceramic Dog appears entirely logical, especially if you perceive Ribot as one of the greatest punks among (free) jazzers. At least, that’s how I see it.

I clearly remember the moment when the track “Masters of the Internet” from the 2013 album Your Turn appeared. It became a major media topic—at least on websites that follow alternative and jazz music.

“Download this music for free / We like it when you do / We don’t have homes / Or families to feed / We’re not human like you / We live inside your iPod / We’ve no religion or god / We’re slaves who only live to serve / The masters of the Internet / The masters of the Internet.”

It was the peak era of free downloads, and Ribot’s lyrics could hardly be more direct in conveying the song’s message. In that sense, this track is an important cornerstone in defining Ribot’s authorial persona within Ceramic Dog, introducing him as a songwriter unafraid of slogans and direct engagement with pressing issues. At the time, it may have been a more narrowly “professional” topic, but with Donald Trump’s first term, the situation of course became more intense. Many musicians felt the need to speak openly about Trump and the consequences of his presidency, and Ribot was no exception.

On Your Turn, I feel that Marc Ribot becomes increasingly free as a singer. Of course, we are still talking about his “utilitarian” approach, shaped by the songs themselves and rooted in a punk-rock aesthetic. He uses different microphones and production approaches for his voice, but occasionally lets it ring out freely. Although we know that Marc Ribot is not a typical lead vocal, like singers in alternative rock bands or jazz singers, his voice is easily perceived as natural, meaningful, even attractive within the context of Ceramic Dog. Just as we hear small “imperfections” in his solos—masterfully positioned within the musical context—his voice plays a specific role within the overall performance concept. If the “narrator” is angrily delivering his lines, then Ribot’s charged vocal will sound exactly right. In that sense, his style becomes a synthesis of two elements—Ribot the narrator (the one presenting his poetry or „story“) and Ribot the punk (the one disregarding conventions of vocal “beauty”).

YRU Still Here? is an essential Ceramic Dog album. The opening track, “Personal Nancy,” presents Marc Ribot as a furious slam poet and narrator, a hilarious yet simultaneously angry and witty songwriter. “Fuck La Migra” worked brilliantly for me when performed with another band that promoted the album Songs of Resistance: 1942–2018, with which he appeared at the SuperUho festival in the Croatian coastal town of Primošten.

Back in 2019, I was quite skeptical about how songs previously performed by vocalists such as Fay Victor—or other guest singers on that album—would sound; it turned out that the concern was completely unfounded, and that Ribot is a true artist of vocal improvisation, reinterpretation, and adaptation across different contexts and bands.

At that concert, I first heard the song “Activist,” which would appear two years later on Ceramic Dog’s album Hope. I have no words to describe the excitement I felt hearing this piece; it’s a small poetic masterpiece that is at the same time hilariously entertaining. The music, of course, is excellent as well. At a concert in Paris five years later, Marc Ribot performed the same song in a solo setting, where it sounded completely different. On that occasion, I also heard the song “The Empire State Building,” based on a tourist brochure text, which in that version could be read as a hilariously entertaining anti-capitalist manifesto.

Poet? Stand-up comedian? Punk musician? Vocal improviser? He’s all of that—and more. Hearing him across three concerts in three different vocal settings, I realized that Marc Ribot is a true master of live performance in the broadest sense.

Ceramic Dog is definitely his most “relaxed” band. Not if we consider the lyrics, of course, but from a purely musical standpoint. This means that the music follows a punk-rock flow and does not rely on obvious genre deconstruction, nor does it foreground improvisation in the way his more jazz-oriented projects do. That doesn’t mean there is no improvisation. The mere presence of Ches Smith and Shahzad Ismaily already signals to the listener that they will witness top-level musicianship—just without unnecessary display.

Although Ceramic Dog may appear musically “balanced” in that sense, its psychological effect on listeners and audiences should not be overlooked. Those who come with a background in New York’s creative improvised music scene will further appreciate the band’s looseness; if you approach them from a rock or alternative perspective, you may be drawn in by the subtlety of their improvisational spirit, which emerges from the cracks of this seemingly “genre-based” music.

See you at the show!

After a couple of months of a very intense work period, I’ll finally manage to take a few days off. I’ll use them to go to two days of the Ljubljana Jazz Festival in Slovenia, and to a concert by Marc Ribot and his trio Ceramic Dog in Pula, Croatia, where I’ll stay for a few more days by the sea. I still have two texts in reserve that I’ll publish next week, after which I’ll take a one-week break on Eurojazzist as well. Although I’ll probably still be posting video reels on Instagram made from concert fragments.

New listens

This week I recommend three albums. The first is “Where Light Settles” by British saxophonist Jasmine Myra, whom I heard a few months ago at jazzahead in Bremen. At the time, I felt that the trade fair hall was simply too large for her music, which radiates delicacy and subtle emotion. In a more intimate listening environment, everything works much better. Gondwana Records is known for highly melodic releases that carry something of what we call “spiritual jazz,” or simply the warmth and gentleness of indie pop. Myra fits that sensibility well and captivates with the beauty of her core themes and compositions, without unnecessary virtuosity display.

A very intimate record, though in a somewhat different way, is “Opatrně (Carefully)” by the Czech duo Toša, consisting of alto saxophonist Michal Wróblewski and double bassist Klára Pudláková. As noted in the promo material, they present a “shared musical language that emerged over a year and a half of performing and living together.” A somewhat unusual reference that came to mind was the album “Jasmine” by Keith Jarrett and Charlie Haden. Of course, the instrumentation and sensibilities are different, but there’s a similar informal, relaxed approach to collective music-making. The focus is on beautiful melodies, but within them you also find small “fractures” or slightly dissonant nuances: sometimes a scraping of the bow, or the sound of air escaping through the saxophone, or something along those lines. It’s clear these are musicians who are also comfortable in free music contexts, and that “nerve” surfaces within this small, intimate, home-like music.

Red Largo, an international lineup based in Berlin, with their latest record “Hotel Neuf” takes me back to the first decade of the 21st century, when I was deeply into Gutbucket and Electric Masada, AlasNoAxis, Hilmar Jensson, Trevor Dunn’s Trio Convulsant, Zu, and so on. The quartet—Fredrik Kinbom (lap steel guitar, bass guitar, guitar, vibraphone, harmonium, celesta, synth, voice, electronics), Sonja Kessner (voice, flute, piano, harmonium, celesta, synth, electronics), Andreas Dormann (bass clarinet, bass flute, electronics), and Chris Farr, with special guest Matti Bye on several tracks (I recently reviewed the excellent band Kiri Ra, in which he plays with Linda Fredriksson and Lau Nau)—moves at the intersection of melodic indie, post-rock, and contemporary jazz. It may lean even more toward “alternative” culture, but who cares. It’s great (mostly) instrumental music that I warmly recommend.

Jazz Across Europe

One of the most unusual concert locations I’ve visited in recent years is the Fikl Art Stage in the remote Romanian village of Socolari. There, Romanian painter Gheorghe Fikl bought an abandoned estate on the edge of the village, right next to the forest, and created a kind of art center with several gallery spaces and a concert stage. The fortunate thing is that the village is very close to the Serbian border, so it takes just a little over two hours to get there by car.

Last season, among others, Jacky Terrasson and the Tord Gustavsen Trio performed there, and this year Tord Gustavsen comes in a duo formation with saxophonist Trygve Seim. This is a new project that will tour later in the year, and I will certainly not miss the concert scheduled for July 13.

And a festival I warmly recommend is Punkt Festival in Norway – I’ve written many times about Jan Bang and Erik Honoré and their musical adventures, as well as the concept of Punkt Live Remixes, so I won’t repeat myself. This year’s lineup is spectacular: Nils Petter Molvær, Tania Giannouli, Goran Kajfeš Tropiques, Erik Honoré, Bugge Wesseltoft, and more – the full program is HERE, and the festival takes place from September 3 to 5 in Kristiansand.

As in previous years, work always seems to get in the way at exactly that time, along with certain logistical and financial challenges related to traveling to Norway from Serbia. But one day I’ll definitely make it there.